


A Soundless Sea

by PinkJinPls



Category: GOT7, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically Yoongi and Jimin need each other they just don't realise for a while, Cliffhanger, Cousins Jaebum and Yoongi, Deaf Character, Deaf Min Yoongi | Suga, Jimin cares so much, Jimin loves Totoro, Kim Taehyung | V is a Little Shit, M/M, Minor Bullying, Minor Jaebum/Jinyoung/Mark, Minor Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V, Minor Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Taehyung | V, Minor Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin, Music Lessons, Music Major Min Yoongi | Suga, Slow Burn, Slow burn yoonmin, Student Min Yoongi | Suga, Teacher Park Jimin (BTS), Teacher-Student Relationship, Yeah defo angst tbh, Yoongi carer, Yoongi is 18, Yoongi piano genius, Yoongi sad backstory, Yoongi takes care of his brother, poly got7, taehyung is a flirt, teacher student sex, until further notice, vmin roomates, yoongi angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23532886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkJinPls/pseuds/PinkJinPls
Summary: What Yoongi hated the most, was the not knowing.The not knowing how the brightly dressed girl groups sang, the notes they could reach, or the speed and strength of words that male rappers threw from their throats. He hated being surrounded by beautiful instruments and not having the faintest clue what any of them sound like, didn’t even know what something high would sound like compared to something low.He hated the fact the piano keys looked so beautiful, black and white ivory, and his fingers could follow the sheet music so well and yet what was he playing?(OR, Min Yoongi is a deaf high school student struggling to keep a roof over he and his brother's heads. Park Jimin is the bubbly music teacher taken back by Yoongi's musical skill. Taehyung's a horny roommate, Jaebum's a relaxed cousin, and everyone's got a crush on someone.)
Relationships: Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 60





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> It's easier to disclose tags here, so as a head's up, this is a teacher-student au with teacher Jimin and student Yoongi. Yoongi is eighteen and legal throughout the au. Yoongi is a carer for his younger brother after their Mother left them and struggles with money so there's a sad backstory there. If any of this affects you or if you want to ask me more hmu and I'll be happy to help. 
> 
> Enjoy bunnies and stay safe ♥

Park Jimin’s eyes flickered to the ticking clock on the wall and he smiled to himself, his small hands knotting his tie with an experienced coolness, before reaching for a cosy, knitted cricket jumper in a navy colour. The regal blue of the wool caused the male’s blonde hair to look bright, and the blue contacts in his eyes even more so. He combed through his hair for the final time before grabbing his briefcase and leaving his bedroom.

“It’s your world, baby, I’m just living in it,” Taehyung’s purr of a voice came the minute Jimin reached the kitchen.

His best friend, confidant, partner in crime and most currently, roommate, Kim Taehyung was sat at the small, round kitchen table. His skin was more tan than usual due to the long summer, but September was always quick to roll around, bringing with it a new school term. Jimin dropped into the seat opposite with a sweet hum of a tune. His eyes glanced across the odd fruits on the table; melon or not to melon?

He instead reached for a pink lady apple, using his knit to shine it when Namjoon let out a huff of despair. Jimin’s eyes flickered up at the pair.

Taehyung’s jaw chewed on his cereal lazily, like a cow eating grass, his dark hair fluffy and lying atop of his head like a Halloween wig, an indication he was in no rush to make himself presentable today, staring at the man like a museum exhibit. A pitch black, rather large satin shirt hung from his shoulders like a bedsheet to a broomstick, and the cuffs kept slipping over Taehyung’s hands whenever he moved an inch. Jimin’s nose twitched a little, catching the hint of liquor that imbedded into his best friend’s skin, hair, clothes.

When Jimin looked closely enough, he could still see the slight smudge of black eyeliner around Taehyung’s eyes from the night before.

Kim Namjoon on the other hand huffed, one hand holding onto the blue coloured counter as the other hovered over his hip. His rather tall, broad frame was head to toe professional, a charcoal suit, jacket stretched across his shoulders, and a white, collarless shirt. His black shoes shined with a military precision, competing against the shining silver fountain pen that hooked onto the top pocket of his jacket. A sleek pair of glasses began to slowly fall down Namjoon’s nose as he looked across at Jimin.

“I can’t deal with this, Jimin. I only asked him if he wanted a slice of toast!” Namjoon petitioned as if Taehyung wasn’t there.

“I can’t help wanting more than that, so, so, sooo,” Taehyung purred once again, exaggeratedly, “much more.”

It was no secret to their close friendship circle that Taehyung and Namjoon had somehow, to which Jimin still isn’t sure of the circumstance, had had sex.

Namjoon had moved into the spare bedroom of their flat when the roommates needed a little extra money. At the start of the summer, money savvy Jimin had tried to calculate how much of his teaching paycheque would stretch over summer to cover his share of the flat. A whole unpaid month and a half, with the summer school hours snapped up, and Taehyung’s bartending salary gave them no choice but to clear out the small attic and offer it around. Seokjin had been the one to suggest Namjoon; they had all met once or twice, through their hyung at a restaurant or bar, and they needed the money quickly, so they weren’t picky.

The elder had settled into Jimin and Taehyung’s space with ease, and had the attic room looking like something out of an IKEA showroom, compared to the is-it-clothes-or-a-rug aesthetic of Taehyung’s bedroom, and the fairy light, Tumblr-come-Pintrest-inspired extravaganza of Jimin’s. He cooked, cleaned after himself, and paid his share of the rent and bills on time, every time.

A few weeks after moving in, they’d organised a get together with their friends and everyone had drank a little too much for no reason at all; Jimin remembered he and the youngest, Jungkook, dancing drunkenly down the street and performing show tunes for an audience of no one. A long way past noon the next day, Jimin had awoken to a barrage of notifications on his phone, the group chat booming as Taehyung declared he’d had the best sex of his life with Namjoon and threatening to send dick pics, before the latter went ballistic with mortification. The male couldn’t believe that Taehyung would be so open and upfront with them all about their sex life, the notion of it practically scolding Namjoon, and in its wake formed a hell of a dislike for the bartender.

But that was simply Taehyung. And now, Taehyung had been a little hooked on Namjoon ever since, claiming once again rather openly that there was no other penis on this earth that could do the things Namjoon’s could, and their hyung hated him for it.

Namjoon groaned and rolled his eyes, moodily spreading butter across a piece of toast and hissing as it almost burnt him. Taehyung seemed unphased at everything. The barman had settled into a new routine of coming home from work in the early hours of the morning and staying up with the only intention of seeing their roommate in his suit as he left for work, and after seeing it, would then go to bed and sleep the day away. This morning was obviously no different.

“Behave, Taehyungie, or I’ll personally help hyung find a new place to live,” Jimin threatened with a soft smile.

Taehyung immediately whipped around to look at Jimin, his tongue ceasing to suck seductively at the spoon in his mouth, the metal object falling to clang into the cereal bowl. Milk splattered onto the table and Taehyung’s sleeve, unknowingly, and Namjoon’s jaw gritted in frustration at the sight.

“You dick snatching Judas.”

Taehyung’s voice was so gravelled from his long night’s work and lack of sleep. Jimin simply smiled softly before pointing to his own hair, eyes sparkly as he glanced between his two roommates.

“I left my hair a little curly, does it look okay? Does it still look professional, or just plain messy?” Jimin blurted eagerly.

“I think it’s nice, Jimin-ah. With the tie and work outfit, it’s a good mix of friendly teacher,” Namjoon answered truthfully, his eyes glued to the clock, “I’ll drop you off on my way if you’re ready?”

Jimin smiled gratefully and nodded. He was so glad when his hyung had come to him last week and proposed that they car pool, although the bank Namjoon worked at wasn’t exactly close to the school, due to the ring road that looped through the city it ended up being on the car route. His hyung had smiled and said it made more sense to travel together instead of Jimin wasting money on buses or trams.

Taehyung straightened up a little in his seat, his mop of hair practically covering his brow and eyes, hiding whatever emotion was pressed into them. It was jealousy, and it was rather obvious enough.

“I’ll know if you sucked his dick. I can smell sexual relief on him, like he can smell out a cute plant pot in a garage sale. It’s almost too easy!” Taehyung blurted, to which Namjoon groaned and made his exit, leaving the younger grinning to himself at the table.

Jimin sent Taehyung one last look, a slight warning not to push it, even though his vulgarity made Jimin bite back a smile. It was almost like a toddler swearing, you shouldn’t allow it and yet it was so comedic to hear.

“Goodbye, Taehyungie. Sleep well, and remember to set your alarm.”

“Goodbye, Jiminie. Have a great day and eat a good lunch.”

Once the front door had closed, Jimin followed Namjoon’s wide, and rather fast, footsteps as he clutched onto his work bags, briefcase in one hand, tote bag on the opposing shoulder and a green, leafy succulent plant balanced in between. The car keys in his hyungs hands jingled together, and Jimin hummed a little at the impromptu tune, which caused Namjoon to smile as he unlocked his silver Audi A1. As they got in, the elder helping the younger with his many bags, Jimin smiled to himself. He was excited for another school year, a set of fresh faces to teach, and most importantly, the thought of his best friend snuggling into bed for a well-deserved sleep.

The car set off, the seats smelling of freshly cleaned leather, and the stereo began to automatically play another one of Namjoon’s audio books in a strange language. Jimin’s eyes watched the streets disappear, watching others hop onto buses, run into coffee shops and usher through the streets. Jimin loved mornings, he loved people, he loved his job. He could already imagine his pupils faces, bleary eyed with sleep but happy to learn. During his years of high school, one of Jimin’s teachers had suggested he become a tutor, not only to help other students in the school but to improve his resume, and in doing so the male had simply fallen in love with it. He’d even won an award in his final year after working so hard for the tutoring and mentoring department, and ever since, didn’t stop until he was working in a school.

Now, with a hard-earnt university degree under his belt, he had spent three years working in a local high school that specialised in excellence in the arts. As a music and dance lover, it suited Jimin perfectly, and he worked tirelessly in every department, be it stepping in to paint scenery for a musical production, or help prepare students for music exams. He was happy, and just where he wanted to be.

“Don’t worry about pulling in, I’ll be happy to walk from here, Joon-ah!” Jimin insisted, not wanting his hyung to be late on his behalf, “Thank you for the lift!”

With a wave and the closing of the car door, Namjoon’s silver car pulled out quick as a bullet and winded along the roads with the other morning traffic. Jimin smiled and carried his things once more down the road, and upon seeing the high school, he couldn’t help but break into a small skip.

☁☁☁

Min Yoongi’s sleepy eyelids shoot open almost immediately. Two small hands hold onto the arm that’s slung out of the bedsheets and over the side of the mattress, hanging lazily, like a sheet on a washing line. His bedroom feels cold. His bare feet immediately curl in on themselves but even his bed linen feels cold. His mouth is dry, from breathing in said cold air, and he croaks a little. The sun is trying to push through his curtain and flood his room with light, which only makes his eyes squeeze close once more.

But then the two little cold hands shake his arm, continuously, and Yoongi gets the picture. He reopens them as a small, yet strangely heavy, body clambers over him. He rubs at his eyes, lets out a long, long yawn, and Beom reaches to switch off the alarm that’s blaring through the room. Beom is the only slice of warmth he can get, the boy being like a hot water bottle, and he immediately tugs his baby brother onto his chest to squeeze him, dropping his chin to the top of the boy’s head. His hair is pitch black, a stark contrast to Yoongi’s, and smells like the shampoo that was washed through it the night previously. He strokes his hand lazily – sleepily – through it for a moment, his eyes feeling heavy once more, before the child pushes away.

There’s a flurry of hand movements and the bedsheets begin to tug away from Yoongi’s body.

“I’m up, I’m up,” the teenager grumbles, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and missing summer vacation almost immediately, “Good morning, BeomBeom.”

He doesn’t bother opening the curtains, there’s no sight from his bedroom window he hasn’t seen before, and instead looks to the clock. The boys are somewhat on time, thankfully, as long as he gets the boy dressed for school and out the door in the next hour. It’s a well-rehearsed routine by now, even if they’ve had all summer not to worry about it. His younger brother disappears off, and Yoongi calls for him to brush his teeth carefully and wash his face well, even though he doesn’t hear the sound of the tap, or the clunk of the bathroom pipe behind his bedroom wall.

Ironing Beom’s school uniform the night before is a hell of a God send. Min Yoongi isn’t always this organised but on the important mornings like this when he gets it right, he’s so, so glad of it. He gives another long yawn as he reaches for it, his nose scrunching as his hand grazes the cold, iron coat hanger, before going after his brother.

They brush their teeth together, Beom straining on tiptoe to reach the sink as Yoongi crouches over, the brothers quiet. The elder watches his namdongsaeng wash his face, and offers him a towel, before ushering the boy to get dressed. Yoongi leaves the bathroom, creeping along the hallway. His dark eyes are drawn to his Mother’s bedroom door. He stands in the draughty corridor, unaware his feet cause the floorboard beneath to squeak loudly, watching, waiting. He’s met with the same sight; nothing. A bedroom that’s lived in and yet not used, the bedsheets pulled back in the same way, an eerie stillness.

The floorboards vibrate and he knows Beom is behind him, so he quickly turns and grins, asking his brother to find their hairbrush, his small body dressed smartly in his uniform. Beom is starting his third year of school, he’s about to start tackling harder sums and longer sentences, both brothers are excited about this. Yoongi only dresses once he knows that his little brother is ready, and dresses quickly, so that he can get to the kitchen to heat up the breakfast rice he’d prepared the night before – again, Min Yoongi is very glad he spent yesterday organising in anticipation for this morning.

Their home is a small flat. The two pokey bedrooms and cramped bathroom adjoin to a kitchen-diner-living space that even the pigeons would seem squished inside, and yet they sit at the little table and eat together, eagerly, Yoongi scolding his brother a little for talking with his mouth full. Beom carefully chews before blinking up at his hyung.

“I’m going to work very hard this year, hyungie, and tell seonsangnim all the books I read over the summer!” Beom chatters excitedly.

Yoongi’s eyes look over the boy’s face. His cheeks are chubby and pink, something that Yoongi is still trying to desperately grow out of, his face is round like a little moon and his skin is as pale as his hyungs. They share a lot of qualities and yet Yoongi sees more, sees the differences, sees _him_.

“You listen to seonsangnim, and complete all your work, BeomBeom, and finish your lunch too,” Yoongi speaks, standing up at the thought, reaching for his brother’s backpack.

It’s brand new, just like Beom’s school shoes, and Yoongi feels relieved that he was able to afford them. He packs away his brother’s lunchbox, making sure the boy has packed his summer reading and work, before neglecting his own lunch. He glances to the time and rushes around, mumbling to himself about getting shoes and coats together, and as he turns to call his namdongsaeng to put on his coat and scarf, Beom is on tiptoe, placing their empty breakfast plates by the sink. He doesn’t hear the way they scrape and clink together against the countertop.

Yoongi now realises that he’s grown a lot over summer and his heart sinks.

He says nothing as he tugs the coat sleeves over his brother’s arms and remains tight-lipped as he zips it as far as it’ll go. Beom smiles excitedly, a tooth missing from his smile, another sign that his brother is growing rapidly. He can’t help but hold the boy’s pudgy cheeks, kissing his forehead softly before they both kick their shoes on. Yoongi glances to the time on the cracked screen of his phone. There’s one text, Jaebum, a YouTube link to something or other. Apart from that, it’s nothing, sheer nothing, just a wallpaper of the sea and the time reminding him there’s somewhere they both need to be.

The brothers leave their home, coats on, uniforms, bags over shoulders. Yoongi’s hand clasps hold of Beom’s tightly, as always, and he looks about him constantly as they walk down the street. When they reach a crossing place, Beom tugs twice on his brother’s hand, indicating that they’re safe to walk. Yoongi asks him if he’s eaten enough, if he’s thirsty, if he’s cold.

 _Two tugs,_ his tummy is full.

 _One tug,_ he’s not thirsty.

 _Two tugs,_ he’s cold.

Beom smiles mischievously and Yoongi chuckles. Once on the safety of the pedestrian path, he scoops his brother up onto his back and continues down the street. Beom’s arms wrap comfortably around his hyungs neck, and instead of tugs, he answers Yoongi with pats.

“Are you going to behave well at school today?”

_Two pats._

“Are you going to offer a pencil to those who don’t have one?”

_Two pats._

Min Yoongi smiles, relishing in the warmth of his brother’s body so close to his once more, but after the fifteen-minute walk they’re at the school and he places him onto his feet. There are other parents, chattering to their children and each other, brand new school shoes scuff along the playground, excitable voices shout and play, little friends reunited. Yoongi hears none of it. He crouches, cupping Beom’s face and kissing his forehead once more.

“At the end of the day, I’ll be here to collect you. If I’m not here, stay with teacher until I come,” Yoongi speaks, but also signs slowly.

Beom smiles happily and nods, his small, gloved hands rising.

“Yes, hyungie. I’ll miss you!” he replies, vocally and in sign.

Yoongi smiles, reading his lips rather easily before watching the boy run into the school gates and straight over to a couple of boys his age. They all jump around like spring lambs. Yoongi wishes that he could stand there and watch his little brother all day, he feels as if he could never be bored of the sight of Beom playing, shouting and laughing, being a normal boy, but there’s somewhere else he needs to be.

The teenager turns on the spot, adjusting his own school tie with a huff before walking back the way he came. He’s always late. The school he fought so hard to get into just has to be the completely different direction to Beom’s, but it’s a factor that doesn’t matter. If Beom is fed, washed and dressed, punctual to class and ready to learn then that’s what Yoongi will do, repeatedly, through wind, rain or hail. They’d spent all summer together, exploring Seoul, playing in the park and enjoying the sunshine, then returning, eating udon noodle and watching cartoons on Yoongi’s cracked iPad screen until they both fell asleep.

Yoongi was sad that summer was over, but deep down he knew as much as Beom needed him, he also needed others, boys his own age for playing, and teachers who were older and wiser than his hyung to learn from. And with that final thought, he huffed, pushing through the morning crowds to rush for the bus stop, only to pile on and be pushed against a window by a rather plump businessman. There was a young man in front of him, head to toe in a designer tracksuit with a large pair of headphones over his ears. Yoongi’s dark eyes stared at them. What was he listening to? Or who?

That was what Yoongi hated the most, the not knowing.

The not knowing how the pretty, brightly dressed girl groups sang, the notes they could reach, or the speed and strength of words that male rappers threw from their throats. He hated being surrounded by beautiful instruments and not having the faintest clue what any of them could sound like, didn’t even know what something high would sound like compared to something low. He hated the fact that the piano keys looked so beautiful, black and white ivory, so pretty together and his fingers could follow the sheet music so well and yet what was he playing?

He huffed and looked back out the window, waiting for the next stop so he could get off the damned bus and get into the school gates in time without getting a formal warning on his first day back, when Beom’s toothless smile resonated through his mind.

What world would be cruel enough to keep the sweetness of Beom’s voice from ever crossing Yoongi’s ears?

☁☁☁

Kang Soo-in-ssi was the previous Head of Music at the school before leaving to tour as part of a well-known orchestra. There were two other music teachers, but it was Kang-ssi who had been delighted with Jimin’s interest in music – and his instrumental knowledge – and put him forward as a musical mentor. Now, as the music staff had all moved up a promotional step in her absence, Jimin was an assistant teacher with the arts, and his newest, biggest role, was teaching musical instruments one on one to students. Although his talents lay with wind and string instruments, he could play piano proficiently enough to teach others on a beginner’s grade.

While growing up, Jimin had learnt flute and clarinet, guitar came easy to him and then so did the harp. Conquering the hard basics of one instrument meant the next one came easily, and it was only in his recent years working at the school that he had allowed himself to fall back into his musical ways, having to pause his instrumental studies when he had to swot and study for his teaching degree.

Kang-ssi had left Jimin with a list of students that she personally wanted him to take over with their musical tuition. Two girls learning the basics of the harp, a new student with clarinet, another girl with the flute and then a final year boy with piano. Jimin was eager to meet with them all face to face so that he could introduce himself and put together a learning timetable that worked for both student and teacher, and was glancing at one of the class registers to see where he could find the girl learning the flute when the teacher next to him grumbled, ruffling his papers and ragging his shoulders with annoyance.

Jung Dongwook.

Jung-ssi was very much past middle-age, the lines in his eyes indicating that he may be more towards sixty, even seventy. He was a rather old-fashioned teacher with black and white teaching ways and very little patience in-between. Jimin had spent a few weeks shadowing him when he was starting out at the school. He sat in on his Korean Language lessons, assisting and listening to the students, picking up on how Jung-ssi taught the subject, and although was polite with his elder, couldn’t help but pick up horrible vibes from him. He was just so old and disrespectful, to his colleagues and students. Jimin didn’t have any front-line experience when it came to teaching but he knew he never wanted to be like him.

“Every year they thrust trouble at me,” Jung-ssi grumbled openly.

His old hands rattled a collection of pages before huffing them down onto the table.

“I’m old, I’m close to retiring, would as easy life be so hard to ask for?” Jung-ssi continued, Jimin made awkward eye contact at a young, female science assistant who quickly found her feet to leave, “Last year those bloody identical twins and now they thrust a deaf kid at me!”

Jimin didn’t like to associate himself with the word hate, but it bubbled inside his stomach, his eyes slowly glancing sideward. The look of annoyance and distaste on Jung-ssi’s face roused his stomach sickly. But Jimin was a beacon of light and hope; even as a child he saw the best in the bullies that pushed him over on the playground.

“Jung-ssi seonsangnim, I took a sign language course while studying, maybe I could teach you some gestures and signs,” Jimin’s voice started out confidently but dwindled.

Jung-ssi had slowly turned to him with a dark, heinous look – as if he couldn’t believe anyone as young and bright as Jimin would _ever_ dare to speak to him – and the music teacher’s words became s quiet mumble. He swallowed deeply, and Jung-ssi huffed, gathering his papers once more like a disgruntled customer wanting to leave a store. Jimin’s store. There was a silence in their corner of the staff room and the younger felt suddenly conscious of this, wishing he hadn’t said anything at all.

But his eyes couldn’t help but catch the piece of paper Jung-ssi was holding. It was his class register, long and full of names, and then one with a big red bubble around it. Jimin blinked a little, flicking from Jun-ssi’s register to his own list of music students, before he had a slight realisation.

“Just who are you, anyhow?” Jung-ssi’s rough voice came as the elder found his way to his feet.

“Park Jimin…we worked together last year…I shadowed you and your class?” Jimin spoke slowly, and when Jung-ssi gave no look of recognition, “I’m actually Min Yoongi’s music teacher.”

Jung-ssi let out a booming laugh as a school bell rang out, the two sounds together sounding rather hellish combined, before the elder threw a piece of paper at Jimin’s lap.

“Brilliant, he can be your concern now.”

The elder man walked away without another look or word, and Jimin was glad of it, because a deep frown was pressed into his brow, his hands reaching for the piece of paper. How could someone so rude and bored of life be in charge of teaching young minds? The younger huffed before glancing over the paper. It was Min Yoongi’s school file, an awkward photo and information regarding his hearing disability. Jimin felt sorry for the boy, being lumbered in with Jung-ssi and a whole world of ridicule, and immediately reached for his timetable, amending it so that the pupil’s music lessons would align each morning instead of a designated registration room time.

He too found his feet, a pretty blue pen scribbling onto his timetable as he walked, eager to get to Jung-ssi’s classroom so that he could intercept Min Yoongi and guide him to either Jimin’s office. Jimin’s new office doubled up as one of the small, music practice rooms. It was a little pokey and he was struggling to get the window open, but his little desk sufficed and there was room enough for a pop-up keyboard and a music stand or two. Students rushed through the hallways to get to where they needed to be, Jimin getting lost in their crowds as his feet guided him through the stairway until he reached Jung-ssi’s room.

He hung back a little, trying to get a glimpse of his newest pupil, as the students filed in one-by-one in silence. Faces that he recognised from the year before and yet, no Min Yoongi. Jimin glanced to his file once more, had he not seen him? The music teacher looked up once more but this time met Jung-ssi’s eyes, who had turned with a huff, as if knowing Jimin had been lurking behind him.

“He has a terrible record, talks back to teachers, never fulfils his required homework, and most importantly,” Jung-ssi turned, hand gripping his door as he backed into it like a comic villain, “Never comes to school on time.”

The door was slammed in Jimin’s face, leaving him feeling like the student who was in trouble rather than a member of staff, and he couldn’t help the sigh that slipped from his lips. He adjusted his knit jumper, glanced to make sure his shoes were still shiny and new looking, before deciding to wait a little. He gave Min Yoongi the benefit of the doubt. Today was the first day of school! Surely the pupil would have some respect for that, and for all Jimin knew, was running through the corridors to reach his new form room.

But Jimin was wrong.

He remained stood there for ten minutes, then that slipped into fifteen, and concern grew through the music teacher’s body. The boy would have been well-informed of his new registration room, having access to that information online during summer, so Jimin began to wander back to the stairway. Maybe he could catch the boy at lunchtime? He was assisting one of the other music teachersfor the first lesson of the year and he himself didn’t want to find himself late for that. He made his way down the stairs slowly, when the echoing noise of another pair of feet rose and as a lean, small body rounded the stairway nonchalantly, Jimin practically barged into Min Yoongi.

The pupil himself jumped and almost fell backward, hissing out a curse and clutching at his chest, leaving Jimin smiling apologetically. Min Yoongi glanced over him, forcing a smile and bowing himself before he side stepped around him, continuing up the stairs.

“Oh! Oh wait,” Jimin said somewhat uselessly.

He raced after the boy, taking his arm so that Min Yoongi was now facing him. Jimin gave another sweet, polite smile, before showing Yoongi his own file in his hands. The pupil frowned in confusion, his cheeks plump and lips pouty as he glanced at his file, before warily meeting Jimin’s eye.

 _“I will be your piano teacher, Park-ssi! I was just waiting for you. Please follow me to my office, Min Yoongi,”_ Jimin spoke as he signed.

He hadn’t had much use of his sign classes until now and wondered if maybe he was a little rocky. If that was the case, then a little lip reading would suffice, just until Jimin got his practise back in tow and brushed up on things. He smiled dazzlingly, and yet Yoongi groaned and scratched the back of his head, as if following Jimin to the music rooms was more of a punishment then facing Jung-ssi for being late.

Jimin was somewhat insulted but the pupil followed him nevertheless, until they reached the music teacher’s office. The elder allowed the student to walk in first, and closed the door behind them, his eyes glancing to the clock. They had a good five minutes to become acquainted and Jimin wished it could have been a little longer. He was still a little shocked that the student was late on the first day back. Surely his parents would have been racing him out the door to get there on time, Jimin’s parents would have grounded him for days, weeks and months if they found out he arrived to the first day back late. It was definitely something he wanted to address at some point.

Min Yoongi remained on his feet as he glanced around, eyes dancing on the keyboard in the corner, before drawling slowly back to Jimin. The music teacher smiled and ushered for him to sit. The practice room seemed even smaller with the two of them in there, and Jimin hastily moved his succulent plant onto the windowsill with care for more space, Yoongi dropping his empty-looking backpack at his feet. Jimin smiled again, wishing he had snacks because teenagers love snacks, before reaching a hand across the desk. The student eyed him warily before shaking it, his lips set in a straight line, before Jimin brought his hands to sign.

“You don’t have to sign everytime,” Yoongi quickly drawled.

Jimin rose a surprise eyebrow. The stupid part of his brain had completely overlooked the fact that just because his student couldn’t hear, it didn’t mean he couldn’t talk. He wouldn’t feel so stupid if it wasn’t for the way Min Yoongi spoke somewhat rudely to him, but also his voice.

Holy fuck on a slice of hot toast, who on earth gave an eighteen-year-old a voice like that?

A drawl of crushed, deep red velvet sprang to mind, and Jimin knew that he looked as shocked as he felt, but he hadn’t heard a voice so distinctive since he met Taehyung. In fairness, Jimin had known Taehyung since forever so the dramatics of his voice no longer seemed so unique, but this was a whole other level. His silver hair, his puffy cheeks, his eyes that looked so mysterious – oh god, Jimin was staring. He cleared his throat and ruffled some papers, a sure-fire way of looking like he knew what he was doing. Then he completely forgot what the pupil had said in the first place and felt at a complete loss.

“Sorry, what was the consensus on signing?” Jimin asked again quietly, knowing he was blushing.

He fumbled with his desk but listened intently.

“I can somewhat lipread well, you don’t have to sign every time. Especially in the corridors. Just pat my arm and then speak slowly to me.”

The pupil spoke defensively before his arms folded in front of his chest. Maybe he just wasn’t a morning person? It was thoroughly understandable; Taehyung had felt the same way about mornings until Namjoon’s freshly showered body before work had brought him out of it. Jimin also supposed that not everyone was excited at the prospect of a new school year. Whereas he used to enjoy school and learning, others didn’t, and pined for the day they could graduate and work or travel instead.

“Of course, however you feel. I can sign so I don’t mind doing that if it’s ever easier for you,” Jimin smiled politely.

He reached for the timetable before pushing it across the desk in Yoongi’s direction. He hovered his baby blue pen over where he had pencilled in Yoongi’s music lessons.

“Your registration seonsangnim, Jung-ssi, has agreed that you can have your piano lessons first thing in the morning, from nine until half past. I know that you were late today but,”

Jimin was a little taken back when the pupil interrupted him.

“Could it not be half past until ten? It works better for me that way, Park-ssi.”

“Min Yoongi, may I remind you that I’m your music teacher and your elder. I’m all for finding what works well for us both but in a polite way,” Jimin spoke with a firm tone.

The pupil nodded his head apologetically but said nothing more. Jimin looked over him, noted the bags under his eyes, the crease going through his collar. Min Yoongi did look a little rough around the edges, Jimin didn’t want to take what Jung-ssi or a paper file had said on board, but so far, the student was proving it right. There was a respect, but it didn’t feel genuine and instead of something only half earnt, but Jimin he gave the benefit of the doubt. He was a teacher, and that was his job.

“I’d rather we start at nine so that it doesn’t bite into your lesson time, Yoongi, this is your last year and working toward your exams is very important,” Jimin insisted, slowly, yet the boy’s face gave no inch to caring.

Jimin was itching to sign. Min Yoongi was putting a front up and he could see how he was working to take in what the music teacher was saying, but he didn’t want to insult the student on the first day of the year – then what would Kang-ssi think of him?

“I have other tutoring that starts at nine, so please, can we start later? When it comes to piano, I’m very dedicated and work very hard,” the school bell rings out, “I won’t let you down, Park-ssi, see you at half past.”

And with that, Min Yoongi was stood, bag thrown onto his left shoulder, walking out of the office eagerly with his opinion the last to be heard. Jimin reeled slightly, had he acted that way in front of teachers, parents, even his friends, he’d be embarrassed and thoroughly apologise. The student was obviously determined to get his own way, and Jimin supposed he’d give it a week, if it worked for them both and Yoongi did as he said he would then fair enough, but he was determined to keep his eye on him.

He hoped that the student would prove him wrong.

☁☁☁

There was something ironic about the way sign language reminded Yoongi just how deaf he was and yet unless he wanted a whole life without communication, he depended on it. Park-ssi probably spent the whole summer eagerly learning to impress whoever his boss was. Sign language probably looked like a little bar of gold on a resume and Yoongi knew that the new teacher was probably popping a boner at the aspect of dealing with a deaf kid for his own career prospects. The teenager huffed.

He had hidden away during lunchtime, finding an empty music room where no one could hear his stomach rumble loudly, or his fingers crash silently onto the keyboards. There was a piano in the school, but it had been moved somewhere, Yoongi had used it for a few of his music exams over the years. He loved an actual piano; he could feel the vibration of the notes through the floor to his feet and through the ivories to his fingertips. There was something beautifully grand about it, pun intended, the way it felt and made him feel.

But in these moments, the secret lunches away from everyone, the wobbly keyboards and clunky headsets to plug into them were just a little better. It was harder to tell if he went wrong or made a mistake, but he didn’t seem to mind. Making a mistaken note on a grand piano seemed like a sin but these worn keyboards invited the slip of a finger; character, Yoongi defined, it was character.

He plugged the headphones into it and left them around his neck.

There were various places in Seoul that offered a piano to the public. Over the summer, he had occasionally wandered to the train station with BeomBeom, squeezing onto the stool, his brother on his lap as he played. Passers-by would stop and listen, brandishing their phones to film him, even offer him money at the end of his songs. He would take it graciously; it was always spare coins or little notes, it was never such an amount he’d feel guilty about taking. Beom would poke his leg or side if he went wrong, but that rarely happened, because even when he went wrong, his brother would remain entranced.

He had missed having a keyboard to himself, for just himself to hear and no-one else. He checked his phone once, finally replying to the text his cousin Jaebum had sent him earlier, before he allowed his fingers to dance over the keys. For the next fifteen minutes, his mind completely cleared. He didn’t think of his teachers, or final year, he didn’t think about his new music teacher or even his baby brother. His mind blanked serenely, and his eyes even closed as he pressed each key, not caring for the slip of a finger.

No one could hear his mistakes anyway.

It had started off as a Chopin piece that he had been trying to learn over summer, but it began to mingle into a fantasy piece from an anime that he and Beom watched. Beom always said that the music was so pretty, and he wished his brother could hear it. Yoongi had hastily learnt it, and even though in his heart he didn’t know how it sounded, on the big piano at the train station he could hear the vibrations, and from the way Beom smiled he knew it was right. It was always the piece that everything else he played mingled into.

His fingers came to stop when his throat clenched a little and suddenly all he could think about was the water bottle in his backpack. He glugged at it for a moment, rejoicing in the fact water was free, before reaching for his phone once more. His cousin had texted him once again and he bit onto his lip in thought. Jaebum was two years older than him and hadn’t graduated from school. He was the typical bad boy story. He wound up with a group of friends who cared more for stealing booze and drinking it in parks then attending his lessons, although he had grown up a little since dropping out, now living with a better group of friends and working in a garage fixing cars. He knew of Yoongi and Beom’s situation, arrived impromptu with bags of groceries sometimes when his pay packet had been plentiful enough, and had been trying to convince Yoongi to come work with him full-time instead.

Hell, Yoongi was tempted. He’d been tempted to drop out and work full-time for a long while now, the thought of getting paid daily, hourly even, sounded like heaven. An ominous voice deep within his mind reminded him that it seemed the rent was soon going to come down to him, as well as gas, water and food. He rubbed his hands through his hair and groaned, loud enough to rumble his throat, before looking to the text again.

Jaebum was offering another trial run at his garage, urging him to come along and try out.

Yoongi was obviously good with his hands, he was the one who fixed Beom’s games when they broke, or the taps when they leaked, even the damn radiators. He’d be able to get the hang of engines easily, especially under his cousin’s experience, but dropping out of school meant dropping out of piano. This damn school was the last place he had where he could complete his piano exams, if he had that on his resume, maybe he could get a job playing somewhere, or even in a shop selling them. Jaebum rarely played anymore, always working or too tired from work to do so, and that set a fear in Min Yoongi. He supposed it would be different if he didn’t have his brother, but he did.

And BeomBeom came first over everything.

His phone buzzed again, and Yoongi couldn’t help but scoff at the angry cat emoji that his cousin sent, before reading over the request for him to bring Beom to his after school for a pizza night, which was a request that the teenager didn’t hesitate to accept.

☁☁☁

Taehyung was running late to work and yet still made a rather large, conscientious effort to swagger into the kitchen with nothing but droplets of water running over his tanned skin. Jimin had seen the sight first and rubbed his head a little, trying to stare at the table and wonder whether he should warn Namjoon of the sight behind him, but it was too late anyway. He reckoned that Namjoon had a Taehyung sensor in the back of his brain – or could just smell the heavy Gucci cologne – and gave a ragged sigh.

The banker had turned around, ran his eyes over the sight and snapped, going off on a very bilingual rant which only made Taehyung smirk harder. He had angrily put his supper plates onto a tray, staring aggressively at anything that wasn’t his roommate’s bare body, before edging through the kitchen the long way. He craned around Jimin instead of walking by Tae and retreated to his attic. They could both hear him all through the flat as he went, ranting and grumbling. There was a clinking noise and Jimin knew that Namjoon had dropped something on the floor but instead pointed a finger to Taehyung with a serious look on his face.

“First of all, I think I hate the fact I’m so used to the sight of your bare body,” somewhat a truth, Taehyung hated clothes and preferred to be without them, “and would you please stop doing that to him? I think this is borderline sexual harassment, no, this _is_ sexual harassment.”

The younger groaned and rolled his eyes, his black hair falling in front of his eyes, Playboy bunny tattoo that sat on his V-line stretching as he did so, before grabbing for some clean boxers on the radiator. He slipped them on with ease and grinned innocently at his best friend.

“We’re going to end up with an angry note from Seokjin-hyung or something, he may personally remove Joon-ah from your sight, and then you’ll regret behaving like this, Taehyungie,” Jimin finished.

He then eagerly spooned some noodles into his own mouth in the most scolding way he could try, but it didn’t really work as Taehyung leaned on the counter and stroked a hand through his hair. Jimin always feels pangs of guilt whenever he sees Taehyung’s body. Taehyung is lean and toned because he likes to do yoga and he dances a lot and is just generally one of the sexiest, prettiest human beings that Jimin has ever come across. But Jimin…he has pudgy cheeks, and pudgy hips, and just general pudge.

He looks away when he can feel himself falling into that self-image blackhole everyone likes to avoid.

“I can’t help it, when he gets flustered he gets tense and just looks like an absolute Father-In-Law, Taehyung drawled, rooting through the fruit bowl before huffing in distaste, “I wanna be his Lolita and suck his dick by a pool he employed others to build.”

“He’s a human being with feelings, Tae, be easy with him. Why don’t you buy him flowers or something? Flirt with him via a different, less vulgar route?” Jimin suggested, hearing the front door unlock.

“Marco!” Jungkook’s voice shouted loudly through the flat.

“Polo!” Jimin and Taehyung called back in unison.

Taehyung gave a huff, dramatically leaning even more in a sex God pose.

“But I _am_ vulgar, it’s who I am, I’m a little dirty, a little slutty, it’s not like he didn’t like it that night,” Taehyung slips out with a lick of his lips as Jungkook enters.

He’s dressed head to toe in a black tracksuit, headphones hanging around his neck and a huge backpack over his shoulders. The maknae smiles to Jimin, his trainers squeaking against the tiled floor before he sees Taehyung and his eyeballs practically fall onto the floor. His mouth wobbles open, then closed, and the sudden silence is enough for Jimin to look up from his own dinner. Jungkook suddenly closes his mouth and blinks around, not knowing what to do with himself. He’s a whole three years younger than Taehyung and a little shyer.

“I finished college and was in the neighbourhood,” Jungkook mumbles as Jimin points to the seat opposite him.

“Sit, sit, Taehyung was just leaving to go to work, fully dressed. Weren’t you, hyungiebungie?” Jimin prompts with a wide grin.

“I suppose so,” Taehyung drawls, but smiles, nevertheless.

He teasingly allows his hand to get lost in Jungkook’s black hair for a moment, ruffling it around before plodding off, singing to himself. Jimin laughs to himself and looks to the maknae, to ask how his first day back at college was when he notices the way the boy’s ears are pink, no, red, to match his cheeks. Jimin hears himself laugh before he even registers it, and Jungkook kicks him under the table, before getting up to help himself to a bowl full of food.

“I’ve never seen him like that, shut up!” Jungkook hisses under his breath as he sits back down by Jimin.

“You study physical education, you literally rub male leg cramps all day,” Jimin teases only to be kicked once again.

Jungkook grumbles something incoherent. His ears are still pink as he stuffs food eagerly into his mouth and Jimin decides he’ll give it a rest. His tracksuit top bunches a little at the shoulders as he sits all crumpled over the bowls of food and Jimin enjoys watching the younger eat for a moment, before finishing his own dinner. Jungkook eventually chatters about his day at college, telling Jimin a story about some guy on his course that looks like someone from a movie but he can’t think _what_ movie it is when Taehyung plods back inside, now dressed in black jeans and a loose, flowy black shirt with a golden pattern flowing through it. Jimin smiles a little, because he brought it for his best friend on his last birthday, and Taehyung notices and therefore kisses Jimin’s forehead.

“I’m running late,”

“I know you are,” Jimin sings knowingly.

“Eat well, relax and remember to set your alarm in the morning,” Taehyung purrs.

“Have a good shift, drink water and get home safe,” Jimin replies with a smile.

Taehyung pulls a box of Pockey sticks from the cupboard and slips them into his back pocket, black shiny shoes already on his feet, before he ruffles through Jungkook’s hair once more. This time the maknae groans and tries to waft him off but Tae grabs at his wrists and kisses his palms, which flick around desperately.

“Bye Kookie-ah!” Taehyung wishes before disappearing, shouting the same greeting to Namjoon before the front door clicks open and closed.

Jungkook has noodle sauce down his chin, but it’s obviously the least of his worries as he tries to comb through his hair. Taehyung’s large hands really did a number on it and even Jimin needs to lean across to fix the back. Jungkook lets his hyung sort it before continuing with his dinner. The young man had sort of fallen into their friendship group. Hoseok had worked at a gym for a while and had met Jungkook there, who was working a summer job in between college. Although there were a few years age gap, Hoseok had still encouraged the boy to come out for food with he, Jimin, and Taehyung, and when they’d all gotten along so well, Seokjin and Namjoon were introduced and the rest was history.

Jungkook lived in student accommodation since his family was back in Busan, and it was obvious to all of them that they were almost a substitute family, even Seokjin doted on him and took him to the cinema whenever he wanted to catch a Marvel movie. This meant that he always ended up being at someone’s place, be it Jimin’s, Hobi’s or Jin’s, but they all enjoyed his company.

There was a plodding of feet and the clinking of cutlery and Namjoon re-entered the kitchen with a huff. For a moment he didn’t even notice Jungkook, not until he placed all of his plastic – for good reason – cutlery into the dishwasher and turned to face the table.

“By the way, Jimin, oh!” Namjoon paused, blinking at the maknae, “Sorry, Jungkook-ah, hi! How’s college going?”

Jungkook spoke about the guy from his university who looks like a guy from a film, but he doesn’t know what film, again, rather chattily as Namjoon pulls up a chair and joins them at the table. Namjoon chats along, offering out a few famous actors but none of them resonate with Jungkook and they both shrug. Jimin looks over the side of Namjoon’s face. When he’s not dressed for work, the elder actually looks rather comfortable and snuggly, in a pair of loose cargo pants and a big, knitted cardigan. His large hands are peeling an apple with a knife, and its only when he offers Jimin a cut slice he realises the younger is looking at him.

“You were going to say something to me?” Jimin asks innocently, pushing away his dinner plates and taking the apple slice.

Jungkook’s metabolism bubbles in excitement as he devours through Jimin’s leftovers, chewing away in his own world, his phone on the table, twitter feed buzzing.

“Was I…” Namjoon pauses, in puzzlement, then shrugs and smiles, “I can’t remember. How was work?”

“I have a student in his final year who’s doing piano lessons, but he’s deaf,” both Namjoon and Jungkook look up in interest, “He seems so cold. He was telling _me_ when I should schedule him! I couldn’t believe it!”

“Kids these days,” Jungkook scoffs at the - only just - age of twenty-one.

Jimin and Namjoon both look at him with a raised eyebrow, to which he shrugs a little and goes back to looking at his phone, and Jimin continues. Namjoon chews on his apple quietly in consideration.

“He has a reputation with all the teachers, apparently he talks back, arrives late,” Jimin sighs, “I’m so excited to hear him play piano though, Kang-ssi told me he could play beautifully but she never told me that he was hard of hearing.”

“Well, Jimin-ah, you could give him an inch and he could take a mile. Or, you could be very strict with him and keep him on a leash and he’ll either react well to it or act up like hell. You’ll just have to follow your gut and communicate with him. Just make sure he doesn’t make a mockery of you, you studied hard to be where you are,” Namjoon offers with one last bite of apple.

Jimin sighs but smiles, nodding his head, knowing that what his hyung offered is valuable advice. It’s true, he’s not sure how Min Yoongi will react to his ways of teaching, and a tiny voice deep in his mind offers the idea of the student dropping out of piano because he can’t stand Jimin so much, but he pushes it away with force. That seems like a hell of an extreme that he genuinely thinks they won’t reach. He’ll play it cool, hear Yoongi out, teach him and keep a firm hand. And with that, he feels a little more ready for the rest of his teaching week.

☁☁☁


	2. Two

The Min brothers have known Park Jinyoung for around a year now, and yet it’s the first time they’ve set foot in his house. Jaebum’s roommate and best friend, Jackson, is apparently having half of China over to visit; literally, the male was born in Hong Kong and his fiercely loving and protective family fly over in their hoards and take up rank in the flat. Once, Jaebum even came to stay at Yoongi’s place because of it, but after two nights of he, Yoongi and Beom all crushed onto one bed, his cousin found sanctuary in other places.

The Jinyoung story is connected to the Mark Tuan story, rather messily, and Yoongi is still trying to wrap his head around it. Through his work at the garage, Jaebum ended up meeting attorney Jinyoung, whose car had broken down and after a few dates began to get a little exclusive, but then at a Christmas party, his cousin came across Mark, who also got a little exclusive after a few dates. Mark and Jinyoung both found out, and instead of breaking up with Jaebum, punished him by tying him to a chair and forcing him to watch them have sex. Now, they’re some sort of exclusive trio.

Yoongi really hopes Beom never asks about it all because he doesn’t want to explain it to him.

Nevertheless, Jinyoung’s apartment is in a fancy building. Jaebum had warned him that the male had some major money, practically gloated in the past, but it was obvious now. The minute Yoongi saw the white carpets and executively cleaned wooden floors, he had practically pulled the shoes from Beom’s feet before the boy could even take a breath, tugging his coat from his tiny arms and leaving him in his clean school uniform. He then followed suit as Jaebum planted a soft kiss on Jinyoung’s cheek before heading straight to the fridge.

“Here’s Double B!”Jinyoung had greeted the small boy, and Beom had run into his arms.

A few hours, a home cooked meal prepared by Jinyoung and Beom, and a cheeky beer or two later, they were all sat on the very white sofas as the television played something Jaebum was keen on watching. The bonehead had been so intent on watching it that he hadn’t even put subtitles on until Jinyoung had reprimanded him about it. His cousin had sent a lazily, half-assed smile Yoongi’s way and Yoongi had replied with a dramatic roll of his eyes. Even though biologically, he was sure how they were related, mentally, he wasn’t. Their Mother’s were sisters, and it made sense as they were both as flaky as each other.

The flat was beautiful. It looked like it was fresh out of Pinterest, probably where Jinyoung had gotten so many of his ideas, with the way everything had its own perfect place. The living area was open plan with large windows along the main wall that showed the Seoul skyline and the few visible stars above it. The kitchen was probably the crown jewels of the whole flat. Yoongi wasn’t exactly a chef but he could thoroughly enjoy cooking a little more if it was in a kitchen like that every day, with the midnight black fridge and royal mahogany counters. Throughout the flat, every other counter, sideboard, table and the giant, beautiful bookstands that surrounded the large TV was cut of the same wood. Every shelf in the area was decorated with endless shelves of books.

Yoongi knew that his cousin’s boyfriend was a bookworm – all the male ever spoke of was books – and yet he didn’t realise quite how many he had. Jinyoung himself was sat on the navy coloured, fluffy rug with Beom, the boy’s homework spread on the coffee table as they both leaned over it. The slightly scarce contents of Beom’s pencil case now rolled across its surface as they worked together. Yoongi kept flickering his eyes to Beom, naturally out of instinct, but he couldn’t help but feel somewhat relaxed. The flat was warm, cosy, the art on the wall was pretty to look at, and the standing lamps gave a lush glow.

It was nice to relax without worrying Beom can hear neighbours screaming, or the blaring of sirens that match the frantic blue lights from the road below. Yoongi can’t put an accurate sound to the images but he knows it’s not good for Beom, or any child.

“Okay, adjectives are fun, and make your sentences exciting to read, what adjectives are there…” Jinyoung paused, eyes tilting up in thought as Beom watched him, “You could have an _effulgent_ lamp, a _garrulous_ neighbour, ooh! A _platitudinous_ review of a theatre piece.”

Yoongi was completely unaware, watching the subtitles on screen, hooked on this one episode of the series his cousin was watching when he saw the way Jaebum had sat up on the sofa and was looking at Jinyoung incredulously. The child too was looking up at him with a creased brow, Beom trying to make sense of the wondrous words Jinyoung was coming out with. Yoongi’s eyes flickered between them all, trying to keep up with the mouths moving at the odd angles.

“Jinyoung, he’s only six! I don’t even know what those words mean,” Jaebum blurted in Yoongi’s case.

His cousin then turns to Yoongi, repeating what Jinyoung was teaching through sign, until he huffs and stops, shrugging in confusion.

“I don’t even know how to sign any of those!” Jaebum exclaims and signs at the same time.

Yoongi chuckles a little. He appreciates Jinyoung getting carried away with himself, new words are good, fun, what Beom should be learning, but maybe at an easier rate.

“Start smaller with him, a _delicious_ meal, a _lazy_ dog,” Yoongi began.

“A _boastful_ uncle,” JB let slip with a smirk.

Yoongi catches that and he’s glad of it. He and his cousin share a familiar smirk, a snicker of a laugh that sounds so alike and yet Yoongi has no idea of it. Jinyoung immediately threw a frown his boyfriend’s way before huffing and looking to Beom.

“Don’t let them doubt you, I was learning words like that when I was younger than you,” Jinyoung spoke then paused, when Beom began to chew on the end of his pencil, “We’ll start simple. How would you describe a cat? Hungry? Or sleepy?”

And so the two continued on, Beom chattering away happily about his homework. Yoongi smiled a little, his little brother was so clever, not Jinyoung level of clever but there was still time. The child was kind, happy, obedient and polite. Whether he was home or away, he liked to offer his help with putting away plates or even cooking. He loved spending time with Jaebum, but there was something different Jinyoung and Mark could offer to the boy, and Yoongi was glad of that. He wanted his little brother to see where hard work could get you in life, a place like this, a life like Jinyoung and Mark’s.

The teenager wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but sometimes he struggles to help Beom with his homework. Sometimes Beom has a specific reading, a chapter of a book, and Yoongi can only watch his lips move, he has no way of telling whether Beom is pronouncing things properly, or if _he_ is. There’s a homework club at Beom’s school but Yoongi feels like a shitty brother when he takes him there. He should be able to do this with Beom, _for_ Beom.

With homework done, Jinyoung had suggested that they stay over for the night. Yoongi went to put up a fuss but both JB and Jinyoung put up a good enough fight, Beom’s school was close, Jinyoung was getting up at the same time for work, and he could also drop them both off in the car. A decision was easily enough made and Jaebum had bagsied bath time duty, mainly to make a bubbly, soapy mess so he could watch Jinyoung frantically clean it afterwards.

When it came to Jinyoung and Mark, the attorney was the butt of the jokes, whereas Mark was the precious prince. The latter was currently in New York for work, where he frequently flew to attend meetings for the publishing company he worked at. Yoongi didn’t know how his stupid cousin, who had a set-fire-to-his-own-farts phase, ended up with such sophisticated men. _MEN_ , plural.

“You guys can take my bedroom, me and Jae can snuggle up out here,” Yoongi made a face to fight it and Jinyoung continued on, “Trust me, Jae will be happier out here so he can watch animal sex compilations on the TV when I’ve fallen asleep.”

“I will never understand your attraction to my cousin,” Yoongi sighed, “But thanks, hyung. I appreciate it, me and BeomBeom.”

Jinyoung smiled and began collecting some clothes of Jaebum’s for Yoongi to wear for the night, and soon enough, Yoongi was star fished in Jinyoung’s king-sized bed. The bedroom was warm and smelt faintly of a scented candle, the bedsheets were heavy in the best way, and it was blissfully quiet. Even Jaebum’s long sleeved tee and joggers felt like a luxury as they hung off his skinny body, but Yoongi struggled to fall asleep. He looked sideward, at Beom’s small body curled comfortably under the sheets, and in such a big bed, the child felt so far away.

The Min brother’s had practically shared a bed their whole life. Once Beom was old enough to sleep comfortably through the nights he was placed next to Yoongi. It’s how it had always been and Yoongi could barely remember what it had been like to have a bed to himself, the thought alone was a rather strange concept.

It was almost as if Beom could feel his brother’s pining. They’d always had a silent bond that only the two of them could understand. Even when he was a baby, Yoongi would sit and hold him for hours, the pair of them silent and just watching each other, sweetly. His little eyes slowly opened, and a small hand reached across the space toward him. A soft smile spread over Yoongi’s lips and he immediately reached over, pulling his brother’s body beside his and immediately felt a perfect warmth. Both boys drifted off in that moment, with Beom’s head in its rightful place on Yoongi’s chest.

☁☁☁

Kang-ssi was right.

Jimin paled a little, throat feeling dry, hands sweating and foot tapping insatiably against the carpet of his office. Min Yoongi had appeared a little earlier than half past nine, had plonked his bag down with a yawn and looked at Jimin with expecting eyes until the music teacher had smiled and began their tutoring. The student had told Jimin that practising on the keyboard in his office would be fine, he enjoyed playing keyboard, and the teacher had told him that Yoongi was welcome to any of the music rooms whenever he wanted to play. Little did he know.

The student had laughed dryly and asked if they should start with Chopsticks, and Jimin hadn’t known whether it was a joke or not, still trying to grasp the teenager. But then his dark eyes had looked to the keys, without a need for a song sheet or prompt. Now, Yoongi’s fingers were dancing so elegantly across the keys that Jimin’s heartbeat in anger against his chest, how such a masterful player should play on anything less than the biggest, grandest piano in the vicinity. The hairs on the back of Jimin’s neck began to stand on end at the beautiful of the piece – a piece he didn’t even know, nor recognise!

A whisper within his mind chastised him and told him that he was out of his depth, completely out of his depth, and yet he was so captivated…

Min Yoongi’s hair had slipped over his face a little from where his head bobbed a little, over and over, feeling and registering a beat that wasn’t there, his knuckles rising up and down as if puppets on strings were controlling him. If he made a false move Jimin never noticed, and it was only when Yoongi picked his head up a little that the teacher saw it, realised, the student’s eyes had been closed the whole time. He swallowed thickly, just wanting to cry but knowing he couldn’t; shouldn’t.

The piece came to an end and Min Yoongi’s fingertips slowly left the keyboard. His eyes opened and his mouth was set in its usual straight line. He didn’t look tired, or stressed, or even relived. He glanced sideward at the music teacher with an air of having tied his shoe, or made a sandwich, as if he had done something so incredibly mundane that it should be showed no satisfaction. Jimin’s plush lips wobbled once, twice, trying to gather words, and he was sad and angry once more that the student couldn’t hear the sheer emotion in his voice, to show Min Yoongi just how much he had moved his teacher.

“How…” Jimin started, trying desperately to string anything together, “How long have you been playing?”

The student looked to the keyboard with thoughtful but nonchalant eyes before he shrugged his shoulders and met Jimin’s once more.

“They used to have an old piano in the public library when I was a kid. I started playing when I was around six, maybe seven,” the student answered simply.

“It shows!” Jimin all but blurted out, his hands reiterating the fact with an expressive wave, “What was that piece? I’ve never heard it before.”

As Min Yoongi spoke, his quiet voice a velvety drawl, Jimin had fumbled to reach for a notepad and pen. He intended to write down what pieces Yoongi could play, what he wanted to learn, etc.

“It’s called Pern, it’s by a French composer, Yann Tiersen. I came across a video of someone playing it online, I can learn copying their hands as they play,” Min Yoongi answered dutifully, and more so.

“It…it truly was a beautiful piece, and you played it well! I’m eager to see what else you can play, who do you like? What pieces?!” Jimin began to speak excitedly.

His notebook was on his lap, pastel coloured pen clicked at the ready, listening eagerly for the students answer. It had been hell having to convince admin to let Jimin tutor Min Yoongi over this time of the day, cutting into the first half of the initial lesson of the day for a piano lesson. Park Jimin now regretted nothing. He wished he could sit here all day and watch Yoongi play, the unspoken passion in his hands and heart, pouring into the keyboard, effortlessly; beauty.

“I’ve been learning a lot of Chopin recently, I recited Spring Waltz for my last piano exam and I’ve been curious about him ever since. I’m happy to learn anything, classics like Debussy, Beethoven, but I know a lot of anime soundtracks too. Modern composers like Yiruma or Ludovicio Einaudi,” Min Yoongi shrugs, as if listing off groceries, “I find learning them is more interesting then being able to actually play them.”

Jimin changed his mind. He now wanted to spend half the day listening to Min Yoongi play, and the other half listening to him talk about what he could play. He wasn’t outwardly enthusiastic, he didn’t shout, laugh, get hyped up with every word or ramble off animatedly like Taehyung would if talking about cute boys. He was slow and composed, as if every detail to his choices and reasoning was well thought out, his tone was strong and yet, humble? There was a genuine humility to Min Yoongi, as if he being allowed to play was a blessing in itself, which Jimin supposed with his background, it was.

The music teacher would never have thought about picking up a flute or guitar had he been deaf. Min Yoongi was a little cold, demanding and liked things on his own terms and yet Jimin respected him more than half the damn pupils, staff and playground pigeons at the school.

“Great, great,” was all Jimin could say, scribbling the big names down, processing it.

He looked up at the student, who was looking at him, and shrugged a little.

“I can’t lie to you, Min Yoongi, I’m a little in awe. Kang-ssi had told me what a wonderful player you were, and you’ve surpassed that, it sounds like you work very hard on your piano studies,” Jimin rambled with a long breath.

He noticed the way Min Yoongi’s eyes would flicker, almost strain, to his lips and felt a little self-conscious, telling himself to slow his speech down. He just wished the student would let him sign but the teenager was obviously too determined not to.

“Thank you,” – _humble –_ “I do.” _humble._

“Why don’t you play me something else? I’d like to get to know what you can do, and the best way you learn things, before we dive straight into the deep end,” Jimin offered with a laugh.

Deep down, Jimin just wanted to hear the beauty of the student’s playing once more, get lost in the ups and downs of the melody, that beautiful Tinseltown twinkle that pianos gave. After the music lesson, he had half an hour to himself before assisting one of the geography teachers with a syllabus, and then coming back to the music department for more music mentoring. He wanted a little solace on an early Tuesday morning.

The student nodded, cheeks puffing a little as he straightened his mouth into a line, turning in his chair and looking over the keys. He thought for a moment, and Jimin let him, so curious and eager to find out what the maestro was going to reveal next. The music teacher all but held his breath, biting the inside of his cheek, unknowingly leaning forward in his seat. Min Yoongi flexed his hands before he was off and just like that, they were both transported once again into a new world, a mutual world of music. Jimin couldn’t help but gasp and let out a smile, knowing and recognising instantly, the tune causing his heart to beat sweetly. Every time his student touched the keys it was like being on a whole new emotional journey.

“My Neighbour Totoro,” Jimin breathed with the sweetest smile.

He couldn’t helplettingthe words slip from his mouth, but he realised just as quickly it wouldn’t set Min Yoongi off course, the student wouldn’t hear what Jimin said. The music teacher was lost in the world his pupil set up for him, he could see the colourful world of Ghibli, trees, grass, rain, and yet all he could hear was Min Yoongi. His eyes sparkled in awe – that was the only way Jimin could describe it – sheer awe. The teenager would bob his head as he hit particular notes, his whole body would move and he would just leave the whole damn universe for a moment before falling back, and Jimin felt as if he was too.

He wondered why in God’s name Kang-ssi hadn’t plucked Yoongi out of this school and onto the stage, God knows she had the contacts and power to do so.

The sweet soundtrack came to a close. The student let his fingertips slowly leave the keys before he once again turned and face his teacher with that rather nonchalant look. The boy didn’t even smile proudly or look the slightest intrigued, as if he wanted someone’s opinion.It blew Jimin away to the point of having no words, and hesigned,nevertheless.

“ _Amazing, truly amazing_.”

_“Thank you,”_ Min Yoongi signed before pointing down to the floor and speaking, “I saw your bag.”

Jimin looked over his shoulder to the tote bag in the corner. It was slumped against the wall and full of folders and papers, notes from last academic year he didn’t want to throw away on the off chance, but the outside was a hand painted Totoro surrounded my pink and purple flowers. It had been a birthday gift from Taehyung and Jungkook the previous year, they’d both had the idea and worked together on it.

“That’s sweet of you, thank you, Min Yoongi,” Jimin spoke soft and slow but even his smile didn’t rouse one from the student.

He merely nodded and knotted his hands together. Jimin glanced at the time and noticed it was ticking away quickly.

“How about tomorrow you bring in a piece that you’ve been struggling with, maybe we can start like that and build our way up?” Jimin spoke again.

Yoongi nodded a little but didn’t write it down. He brought his bag to his lap as if knowing the bell was going to ring out without even looking at the clock. The student seemed eager to go whereas Jimin was eager for him to stay and play more.

“And remember what I said, as a music student you’re always entitled to use any of the music rooms. I’ve completed your morning registration, Jung-ssi said that you can sign in with me in the afternoons too,” the clock struck ten, “Maybe we could talk about your grades?”

Yoongi just kept nodding until Jimin dismissed him with a smile and a wave. The student was out of the door in a blink and Jimin couldn’t help but sigh. He listened to Yoongi’s footsteps echo away down the outside corridor – for being a music department it wasn’t particularly soundproof –before letting his chin drop to his hands. The blonde male was still in shock, the first piece, the second, it was all so beautifully played and with every hope in his sunshine of a heart, he just wished that the student could truly know how beautifully talented he was.

Jimin didn’t hear the slight knock of the door due to his sniffling, and Eunwoo entered, a specialist guzheng teacher that only came to teach on certain days. The minute the tall male entered, he rushed to where Jimin was sat by his desk and rubbed at his shoulder, his dark eyes looking over the male in worry.

“Jimin-ssi, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Jimin sniffled a little, and as he wiped at his wet cheeks with the back of his hand Eunwoo quickly offered him a tissue, so he used it. He took a minute, fanning himself before forcing a laugh.

“I’m okay, please don’t worry, Eunwoo-ssi. It’s just my student he’s,” Jimin hiccupped, “So, so talented.”

“I heard from next door! I figured it was you playing, but it was your student?” the male asked in wonder.

Jimin sniffled into his tissue, feigning another laugh but not knowing why, before he finally looked into his friend’s face. He nodded a little as his small hands wringed at the tissue.

“It was, he’s so incredibly talented and it’s made me feel a little overwhelmed, he’s…he’s deaf, you see. Isn’t that just so,” Jimin couldn’t find the word and instead let out another small sob.

Eunwoo was obviously as moved as Jimin was and rubbed at his shoulder softly, prizing the old tissue from Jimin’s hands and placing a new one in its stead, before standing up to his full, very tall, height.

“Let me get us a couple of hot chocolates from the canteen. I think we can spare ten minutes and let you feel better, hmm?” Eunwoo spoke kindly, before disappearing off the way he’d came.

Jimin sighed and reached for his tote bag, rummaging around inside it before finding his little compact mirror, pale blue with polka dots, to look at his appearance. He regained himself a little but didn’t feel embarrassed for crying for Yoongi’s sake, it seemed like someone had to, so it may as well be an overly caring cry baby like him.

☁☁☁

Min Yoongi had been struggling for a while and it was only right that he should crack at some point. It was possible to struggle and still have things go well for you; the Min brothers were two months into school, Beom was happy and keeping up with his homework, Yoongi’s work faltered a little and yet never missed a piano lesson. On savings, hope, and the occasional help from Jaebum, they had made it this far on their own but to live you had to pay, and Yoongi felt as if he was going to be paying up for the rest of his damn life.

It was a Friday night. The evenings were drawing darker skies in earlier and earlier, the wind was growing colder, and whispers of Christmas hung on everybody’s lips. Yoongi had practically jogged from his school, across town to Beom’s, greeting his teacher and thanking her rather breathlessly for looking after Beom. She had sent a suspicious look and he knew what the look meant instantly, immediately bowing and steering his brother away out of the gates before she could ask. The brothers took each other’s hands, Yoongi watching closely whenever they crossed the busy evening roads, before a night market had captivated Beom’s attention.

The boy pointed to it excitedly, grinned up at his brother and batted his little eyelashes with all his might. Yoongi had chuckled, and answered with a nod, and soon enough they were waltzing through tables. Their noses were on overdrive, fresh food being fried before them, rice and noodles, fresh vegetables, the clinking of beers. Beom skidded to a stop and collided into Yoongi to do the same, the silver haired male rebutting at first before laughing at the sight of his baby brother looking at a stall with excitement on every inch of his face.

“ _Please may I have one?”_ Beom had signed with gloved hands.

Yoongi had smiled but there was a flicker of worry in his eyes whenever his brother requested something, big or small. They crouched out of the way, Beom holding open Yoongi’s backpack for the elder to raid through. Yoongi had really scraped through his bare, bare wallet, scrounging for pennies. He mentally prayed that he would be able to have enough to treat his brother, the damn apples weren’t even that expensive, and yet here he was considering trading in his cracked phone for one. For a moment he selfishly wished that his cousin was here; he wouldn’t feel guilty if the small amount came from Jaebum’s pocket.

“Thank God,” Yoongi had sighed raggedly as they came to the right amount.

The seller must have seen the way Yoongi pulled out every damn pocket of his clothing and bag, teenager wanting nothing more than to treat his young brother and took pity on them. The middle-aged man smiled rather toothily as he waved his hand for Yoongi to put the pennies away before giving them each one for free. He had to concentrate to read the man’s lips, but it was Beom who had bowed and thanked him on both their behalves, both brothers unaware that the seller had watched the youngest sign and was touched by the situation. The brother’s walked home with their treats, Beom’s cheeks a sweet and sticky caramel mess, before reaching their front door.

Neither of them noticed any difference, because on the surface there was none. Beom lined his shoes up neatly and jumped up a few times to hang up his coat before finishing his apple on the small couch. Yoongi disposed of the lollypop stick his apple had been set on before going to the kitchen, wondering about what the brothers were going to eat for dinner – or over the weekend, for that matter – when he noticed it. His heart lurched.

Without thinking of Beom, or anything else, he rushed to the counter, to where the empty Kimchi bag was just laying crumpled on the side, _empty_. He shook and flapped it, squeezing his eyes shut and reopening them, but it was still the kimchi bag, its silver insides staring up at him expectantly. They’d always kept a stash of emergency money in it and tucked it behind a thick cookery book. That way, it just looked like an empty packet beneath a book, inconspicuous, and at the moment it had been Yoongi’s lifeline. Every sliver of money that he’d earned over the summer, spare notes that Jaebum had given him, gone, just like that. He scrunched the bag angrily in his hands and tears of fear pooled at his eyes.

He turned his back to his brother, refusing to have the boy catch him like this, and stared at the broken tiles on the wall incredulously. His jaw was tight, the muscles in his shoulders stretched against his skin in a taught manner, forehead against the cold, wooden cupboard door. A long, shaky breath slipped from his nostrils and with it the last shred of hope his body carried.

One of them had been back, and they’d had a motive. A whirl of sickness panged through Yoongi’s stomach and the caramel apple felt thick and heavy in his tummy.

With a glance of his shoulder he saw the television playing, some colourful music show, and BeomBeom watching it as he finished the last of his own treat. Yoongi threw the kimchi bag in the bin with a vengeance before trying his best to walk through the flat coolly, calmly, which was hard when all he wanted to do as throw a chair at the fucking wall. Beom barely looked up from the screen, all too happy and content, and Yoongi was thankful for that at least. He hovered at his Mother’s bedroom door, chewing over his lip before pushing it open. The bed was still unmade, the curtains were still drawn and the clothes over the chair were the same.

But now the suitcase had gone, the jewellery across the dressing table had disappeared and the wardrobe doors swung open, revealing its empty contents. There were bare, iron hangers across the floor, the odd shoe strewn, but the truest of offenders was the cracked photo frame, face down on the bedside table. Yoongi couldn’t help but gravitate towards it. His mind didn’t have the time to process that this was the first time he’d stepped into his Mother’s bedroom in months. With shaking hands, he picked it up. He didn’t hear the way the glass rattled inside of the wooden frame, echoing his god damn heart, the colourful photograph of his Mother with a bouncing baby Beom, Yoongi’s arms wrapped around her neck, the three of them laughing more than smiling.

It had obviously been too much of a bastard reminder for her to take with her.

He had to remain calm, composed. He couldn’t let this get to him, he had to stop his hands from shaking and play face, be big brother Yoongi. Beom had to have dinner, wash his face, get to bed at the right time. He had to pay for the food, pay the water bills, fuck, was sleeping going to cost them next?!

The photo frame was dropped to the bed where it gave one last rattle, landing face down, and Yoongi left, closing the door shut behind him. He patted at his body trying to find where his phone was, realising he hadn’t even taken his own coat off. His lean, tired body leant against the closed bedroom door as he thumbed a message to his cousin, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously, before he breathed. The teenager just stood there, silently, breathing, processing, _hating_. All he wanted to do was slink to the ground and curl into a desperate ball of _fuck off_ but if Beom came to find him he wouldn’t want to panic or worry him. And so he went back to the kitchen. He hung up his coat. He kissed his brother’s soft hair. He glanced at his phone screen.

(19:14pm) Yoongi  
Could you take Beomie for the day tomorrow? It’s urgent.

(19:16pm) Jaebum

Picking Mark up from airport, but J.Y can have him…what is it?

(19:16pm) Yoongi

Eomma came back. She took our savings.

I don’t want Beomie to be around while I sort it.

(19:17pm) Jaebum

Well…shit.

(19:17pm) Yoongi

Yeah.

Beom had been all too happy to spend an impromptu day with Jinyoung. The latter had got in touch with Yoongi, telling him he could pick his brother up however early Yoongi needed, and had arrived at nine o’clock on the dot. The thought of Jinyoung seeing the state of their little home sent the teenager feeling unbelievably sick and so the brothers had been stood on the pavement outside their complex. Jinyoung had wrapped the boy in a warm hug, the pair of them wearing thick beanies, and helped him into the car before turning to Yoongi.

“I figured I’d take him to IKEA and make a day of it, we can build some furniture and eat those caramel sweets. Just drop me a text whenever, okay?” he paused, glancing over Yoongi with dark, caring eyes before pulling a white envelope and pushing it into the male’s hand, “I don’t care what you say, take it. Jaebum is my family…so are you, you both. If you’re stubborn enough not to spend it on yourself then put it towards Beom.”

And with that, and a hearty pat on the arm, Jinyoung was driving up the street in his shiny black car and Yoongi made his way back upstairs. The male had been right, had it been only Yoongi in this situation, everything would have been different. He would have thrusted Jinyoung’s money back at him so fast with a fiery temper, but it wasn’t just him, there was a harmless child involved, Yoongi’s flesh and blood, Jaebum’s flesh and blood, so he kept the envelope. He didn’t have the heart to see just how much was in there, but it felt somewhat hefty, and he swore on every bone in his tired body he’d pay it back one way or another. Loose money didn’t feel safe in the flat and so he kicked his shoes on, pulled on his old coat of which the sleeves were way too short, and headed out.

An hour later, the cash was deposited into an account under Beom’s name, and Yoongi carried a roll of black bin bags in his cold hands.

He kept his coat and shoes on. He felt cold enough as it was without that fucking wintry draught whistling through the flat and didn’t care for the rug within his Mother’s bedroom. The teenager stood in the living room, his hands shaking angrily, ripping the black bags over and over from the roll and putting them ready by his feet, each one giving a whining rustling sound that he couldn’t hear. His eyes began to water once again, as he thought about her, letting herself in, rummaging through the place, plucking things from it as if she were picking a chocolate from a selection box. His blood ran hot with anger, but a breath of condensation huffed from his mouth. He didn’t hear the knock of the door or the way it opened, but he felt the vibration of the footsteps and span around ready to fight.

Jaebum looked over him, his broad body in a baggy, old hoodie and a puffer coat the length of himself. His older cousin sighed, staring at the floor of black bags, before reaching for the roll. Yoongi remained still, his throat catching a little.

“ _Mark got an earlier flight, and he’s pretty jetlagged, so…here I am_ ,” he signed.

Yoongi nodded a little. If he spoke his voice would betray him and little did he know, Jaebum was in the same state.

_“I’m getting rid of everything. Everything that’s hers, I’m throwing it out, selling it, anything_ ,” Yoongi signed, pausing and expecting resistance, “ _She made her choice and I’ve made mine.”_

The teenager expected his older cousin to kick up a fuss, to tell him he was being rash or to calm him down a little. Jaebum brought his hands from his pockets, revealing a bottle of beer in each one. He placed them on the tiny coffee table before reaching for a handful of black bags. He looked back to Yoongi, the tips of his pitch-black fringe beginning to cover his eyes.

_“I’ve got a friend with a truck. I’ll ring him when we’re ready.”_

And with that, the two entered the bedroom. They didn’t speak, they simply chucked everything, clothes, shoes, bed sheets. Yoongi mentally started a count, how much he could get for the wardrobe, for the mirror, for the fucking bed frame. His hands worked ferociously as he filled bag after bag. Jaebum would eventually catch his attention, if he came across a photo album, or old baby clothes of Beom. Yoongi would make his decision whether to get rid or keep, not much was kept, and they’d both continue. By the time late afternoon rolled around, the two beers were drunk, silently, before they set out to sort the bags.

Yoongi made a little less money than he had expected. Out of disappointment he decided to simply drop the majority of the bags at charity shops and even the local church. With what little money he made he brought a new lock and set of keys for the front door. He and Jaebum worked together to set it in place, one on either side of the door in case they got locked out – which they almost did, on Jaebum’s second try – and when the winter sun was setting past the buildings, Yoongi and his cousin sat on the sofa once more. Jaebum turned to him once the teenager had vocally thanked him. Jaebum turned to face him with a determined look in his eyes.

“Ya know, there are college courses that help you get your high school qualifications, no matter how old you are,” the male started.

Yoongi watched his lips with tired eyes.

“I’ll make you a deal. Finish school at Christmas, get your final piano exam, do it in time for the holidays and in the New Year start work with me. You need to make money for you and Beom, Yoon, there’s no other way around it. Do that, and in a year or two, I’ll pay for you to finish school,” Jaebum’s eyes were as desperate as his tone, not that his cousin would know, “Please.”

Jaebum didn’t have to beg. Yoongi nodded, already knowing what he had to do.

☁☁☁

“I would like to be put forward for my Certificate of Performance exam, please, Park-ssi. Before Christmas.”

Min Yoongi had been as quietly demanding as ever but Jimin was still a little taken back from it. He didn’t think he was ever going to not be a little overwhelmed when under Yoongi’s gaze, it was so strong and domineering without the boy having to say a word. If it was anyone else, Jimin would have put the brakes on and maybe even laughed, but over the last few months he had seen just what Yoongi could do. He was a prodigy and nothing less, and deep down, as hard as the boy would find it, Jimin knew that if anyone could do it, it was going to be Min Yoongi.

Jimin had gained a good rapport with his music students, he greeted them in the hallways, bowed politely if he saw them outside of school grounds and they did the same. Yoongi was harder work, for good reason, Jimin had never wanted to scold the teenager about his attitude because he had every right to be mad at the world, the world around him was always chasing after him with sharp teeth. The music teacher had ended up being the one that other teachers would come to with a Yoongi related grievance; his work, his attitude, his punctuality. The student wasn’t going to change anytime soon, Jimin knew that too well, and could only take it all onto his own shoulders and offer empty promises to his colleagues.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Min Yoongi, but I don’t think your other teachers would be happy about you getting your own way with the things you want. There’s a give and take to this, if you were respectful to them, handed in your coursework, it would be different,” Jimin sighed and knotted his hands together, “It would be the same with any of my other students.”

Yoongi hadn’t fought back against Jimin’s decision. The bags under his eyes and the pale complexion of his skin was all sign enough that the boy was tired; tired of fighting, tired of the world around him, _tired_. Jimin had been worriedly concerned for the student ever since he first set eyes on him. The newest complaint in the staffroom was that he was sneaking out of lessons early at the end of the school day to leave campus. This led to him missing out on coursework tasks and lesson round ups, and days later he wouldn’t hand in what work he had to. The music teacher wanted to help, naturally, but he couldn’t get through to him. Talking, signing, the boy never gave an inch. It was beginning to drain Jimin.

“This…” Yoongi’s voice was low, gravelly, thick with an emotion Jimin hadn’t heard in it before, “Is very important to me. Please reconsider.”

And with that the pupil had left the office and wandered off. The blonde had pushed his hands through his hair. With winter came common colds and flu’s, and there was always a staff member falling sick, Jimin was constantly stepping in for the other teachers. His mind was turning to scrambled egg and all he could think of was the Christmas holidays, two weeks off work full of family, friends and laying down for obscene amounts of time. He just had to get there first.

Jimin glanced to his phone as he rubbed at his head.

(11:56am) Namjoon

Won a bottle of red wine on a work raffle.

Shall we pop it open tonight? :)

(12:01pm) Jimin

That was the text my whole life has waited for!! :) :)

The lunch bell rang out and shook the thin walls of his office, as they always did. He left for Eunwoo’s temporary office down the hall, with his Totoro bag over his shoulder, and spent a while eating and chatting idly with him. Eunwoo could see through Jimin’s face and smiled, softly prizing the stressful thoughts from Jimin’s mind and the blond boy was grateful for it, glad that he could get his concerns about Yoongi off his chest. Eunwoo had agreed with him, telling him that he’d do the same before rushing off to another school in the area to teach.

Jimin swallowed his last sip of hot cocoa from his pastel blue flask before slowly bumbling back to his office, but his feet stopped. Piano…he could hear a piano. He turned on his heel, and had he been a dog, his ears would have perked and keened toward the direction of the sound. He shuffled quietly, craning his face into the little window of each door to the music rooms, but each was empty. The notes became gradually louder as he roamed through the music department, and he couldn’t define the tune, it wasn’t just one piece, it was a hundred all mingling together in a hot mess that…sounded complete?

And of course, he knew just who it was.

His mind threw images of the school’s grand piano, hidden away in a backroom behind the stage, and rapidly it all made sense to Jimin, he knew just where Yoongi was hiding away, and he felt compelled to go to him. His emotional heart and mind had a grasp of how others were, and the sound of the music was almost so gut-wrenching that Jimin knew he was needed, whether Min Yoongi wanted to admit that or not.

He reached the end of the corridor and turned, when three boys around Yoongi’s own age snuck inside the room, quiet as mice. Jimin’s breath hitched the second he saw the tallest smirk deviously. He crept to the door, hoping that he was jumping to conclusions, that these might have been Yoongi’s friends finding him, but he knew better…he wasn’t dumb. He was a high school student too, once. Along with the strength of the old piano, he could hear them laughing and snickering. His gut wrenched one last time and he opened the door a little, silent as he could.

The old piano was against the wall, Yoongi’s back to the door, his shoulders rolling and head bobbing as he played and played, his artful fingers danced so beautifully across the keys. And there were the boys…stood watching, filming, snickering and dancing jeeringly. They were making fun of the fact Yoongi couldn’t hear them. How could humans still be so cruel?

Jimin’s brow furrowed and he immediately barged into the backstage room, the doors swinging loudly and heavily behind him, banging against the frame. The three bullies jumped and turned, their faces now pale and mortified. Jimin stepped towards them with anger in the pit of his stomach, mouth ready to move when one of the boys looked to Yoongi, still playing, unaware.

He snickered even more. Jimin lost it.

“How dare you! How dare each of you! How dare you do such a thing?! How dare you!”

The music teacher knew that he was screaming at the top of his lungs, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d never talked to anyone like this, friends or family, even he and Taehyung’s bickering had never reached this level. Each boy paled, heads drooping, chins meeting their chests, shoulders slumping in shame. Jimin’s chest breathed raggedly as he came to the end of his rant, of which he couldn’t even damn remember, seeing nothing but that deadly red veil. He hadn’t realised that the sounds of the piano had stopped. He hadn’t realised at all until there was a flicker of silver hair in the corner of his eye and he shot a look to see Yoongi looking at him with confused eyes.

“Apologise! And don’t come into the music department ever again!” Jimin snapped.

The three boys immediately dropped into a bow in Yoongi’s direction, and at the crease of Yoongi’s brow, Jimin quickly signed that the boys were apologising to him. Yoongi only swallowed thickly before turning his back once again, looking away from them and Jimin, his hands daintily resting on his legs. The music teacher had to bite at his bottom lip to stop himself dragging the boys out, refraining his hands from clipping the back of their heads as they scampered out the room, tails between their legs like cowardly dogs. His eyes watered from the deep anger he felt.

There was a thick silence in the small room. It was dark, crowded with props from the drama and theatre departments, mannequins, backdrops, ropes. The light was somewhat dim, but still good enough for Yoongi to see the keys in front of him, his slumped backpack at his side.

“We’ll have this moved, immediately,” Jimin blurted to the back of Yoongi’s head, before huffing to himself and making his way to the student.

He lay a soft hand to the boy’s shoulder. It felt skinny from beneath his school blazer. Yoongi refused to look up, remaining so still as if he might disappear from Jimin’s gaze altogether, and Jimin let out a sigh and removed his hand. There was a stray pop-up stool and he grabbed it, perching on it and facing Yoongi. And he watched him until Yoongi finally, finally, after what seemed like an eternity, turned to look into his teacher’s eyes. His face was sorrowful.

“We’ll have this piano moved, asap, to somewhere nicer than this. We’ll start practising on this instead…your talent is wasted on a keyboard,” Jimin heard himself and knew he was dancing around the real subject.

Of course, Min Yoongi gave no thought but getting straight to the point and nothing less.

“My cousin has promised me work. I’m dropping out after Christmas, Park-ssi, no matter what, I have to. Personal reasons,” Yoongi paused, swallowed audibly, “I just want that final certificate and it’ll all be worth it. The stuffy teachers, the stupid work, the clowns who follow me around for their own benefit,”

“You…you knew they were behind you?” Jimin interrupted with a rough whisper.

Yoongi’s lips stretched into a sad smirk and he gave a short, breath of a laugh. He looked to his lap once, closed the piano lid and placed his elbows upon the deep wood. He chuffed at his chin before glancing back to Jimin with jaded eyes.

“I can’t hear the door, but I can feel the vibrations from it opening and closing through the floor.”

Jimin couldn’t help but run his hand through his hair. He was finding it harder and harder to stay composed, hell, he was only seven years older than the student in front of him, and yet mentally he felt the same age. Supply teachers never had to dabble too heavily into this; deep emotional talks. He considered it a win if the pupils remembered his name, half the time.

“Wait, go back,” the music teacher suddenly spoke once he processed what Yoongi had really said to him, “Dropping out of school? You can’t just drop out of school!”

“I can,” Yoongi spoke simply, “I will, I have to.”

Jimin began to shake his head but Yoongi propped his chin in his palm. He looked pained, and strained, a sad mixture of the two. Jimin recognised that it had been an expression that had shadowed across his face for a few weeks, but when he really thought about it, it had always been etched into his features, even when he played piano.

“Please just talk to me, Yoongi,” Jimin breathed, practically begging, “Help won’t come without admission, it won’t land in your lap quietly, you need to let people know…”

That deep look passed through his eyes and face once again, and as Yoongi glanced back to his hands, knotted together and nails picking at the wood of the piano, Jimin thought he’d lost him. A short sigh slipped through his lips as he all but expected the student to grab his bag and leave without another word, but he was left surprised.

“I’m the sole carer of my little brother. I can’t get paid for coming to school, and I need the money to feed him, to pay the bills, it’s something I _must_ do. I’m relying on strangers paying me for playing the piano in the train station or whatever my cousin can give. I just, I just can’t,” Yoongi’s voice wavered to a pause, eyes staring at the wood like his life depended on it, “If I just get my Certificate of Performance then it would set me up for the future…I need it, Park-ssi.”

His bottom lip wobbled, and he whipped his chin away from Jimin so quickly it broke the music teacher’s heart. He immediately reached out and rubbed Yoongi’s back softly, expecting the student to shrug him off, snap at him, but he did neither. They sat quietly. Yoongi gave one sniffle and his sleeve came to his face, and Jimin let his eyes glance away, as if to give the male privacy to shed a tear. Jimin couldn’t just agree with a student to drop out, and yet a voice told him that even with Yoongi’s confession there was still a lot he didn’t know, that was obvious. The blonde male knew that he’d have done the very same thing if he was in Yoongi’s shoes.

Jimin had never made a better decision in his life.

He leaned and knocked the front of the piano gently, rousing Yoongi’s wet eyed attention, offering him a smile and a nod.

_“It’s going to be hard work, but you can do this. I’ll put you forward for the exam.”_

Two skinny arms wrapped around his neck before he could process it. Yoongi’s silver hair was tickling at his nose and their chests were so flushed together that they could both feel the beating of their hearts. He was shocked at first, but Jimin eagerly returned the hug. If a boy like Min Yoongi had done something like that as the first move, then it was obvious he needed it, when was the last time the student had received a real hug like this? The music teacher squeezed, wishing that a little bit of his love and hope would ooze into the boy’s body before they both released each other.

The younger immediately turned and grabbed at his backpack, bashful, and gathered it to his lap. Jimin reached for his arm tentatively, gaining his attention instead of pushing more boundaries, and met Yoongi’s eye.

“Go home, I’ll sign you off as ill. Please, for goodness sake, get some rest.”

The student nodded, smiled the tiniest, miniscule smile, and rushed away like a little mouse. Jimin wiped at his own cheeks, knowing they were wet, before stroking over his throat. Then he had an idea and followed his feet to catch it.

☁☁☁


	3. Three

“Taehyungie, can I ask a favour of you?” Jimin called in a sing-song voice, leaning into his best friend’s bedroom.

It was rather well-timed that Taehyung’s regular Tuesday night off aligned with Jimin’s plan. Taehyung’s bedroom was a whole mixed bag of styles, the monotone nature of his style clashed with the bright rugs and wall hangings, the bold, abstract bed sheets and the mash-up of the old, antique looking chest against the rather modern and minimal black metal rail where his best shirts hung from. The majority of his clothing lay on the floor or spewing from the drawers. There were cactuses lined up along the windowsill, mismatched curtains and odd coloured candles of every scent on every surface.

It was cosy, and ever so Taehyung, which is why Jimin adored being in there so much.

“What kind of favour does my sweet soul mate require?”

Taehyung had answered from his position on the floor. His long legs were sprawled out in front of him and his fancy laptop was between them. As his hands diligently folded a pile of clothes – a rare sight, for sure – the sounds of Buzzfeed Unsolved drifted from the laptop and made Jimin smile a little. He stepped inside, now dressed in lounge clothes, and sat beside him.

“Did you ever get round to selling that old keyboard of yours?” Jimin asked, reaching for a shirt to fold.

Taehyung shook his head, halting his folding since Jimin had stepped in, and nodded his head toward the bed he was leant against.

“No,” he spoke simply, pausing the video, “the guy at work I was going to sell it to left, the complete fucking timewaster.”

Jimin immediately smiled as he leaned to place the shirt he’d folded into the open drawer. A flash of hope immediately bubbled deep within his tummy, a refreshing feeling after such a long, sad day regarding Min Yoongi. Jimin had always been one to take other’s problems home with him.

“Can I take it?” the blonde immediately asked, “You know my student, Min Yoongi, the deaf boy? He confided in me about his home life. Can you imagine, his parents just upped and left, leaving him to financially and physically take care of his younger brother? I could tell that there was something deep inside him that was struggling but I never expected that…I want to give him a keyboard, so he can practise at home, in comfort.”

There was a silence. While talking, Jimin had been staring at the pile of clothes and the rather sad tone of his voice had caused Taehyung to peer over with a concern in his eye. He had listened to the story but as his friend’s eyes began to glisten a little with tears, Taehyung threaded one of his large hands through Jimin’s soft hair, which made the music teacher meet his look. Taehyung offered a warm smile as Jimin laughed at himself, catching a lone tear that fell down his cheek.

“Seems like you’ve had a long day, bubby,” Taehyung concluded with velvet tones.

Jimin gave another sad laugh, wiping another tear and nodded a little. He had a big heart that just wanted the best for everyone around him, especially his students; _especially Min Yoongi._

“Giving your student my old keyboard seems like a great way for karma to reward me, hopefully in the way of a lavish lifestyle or a well-endowed partner,” Jimin groaned at Taehyung’s speech, “So of course you can have it. Or he can.”

Jimin smiled and leaned across to place a lingering, platonic kiss upon Tae’s warm cheek. Taehyung patted his thigh gently before sitting forward, pushing his laptop out of the way. His eyes, through his hair, glanced at the chaos of items sprawled under his bed. It took a good ten minutes and a hearty coughing fit from the gathered dust, but Jimin pulled out the keyboard, heavy as it was, still in its box and grinned happily to himself. Yoongi would be able to practise for his final exam at home, not having to drag his brother to a music shop or station to use a public piano.

“It’s one of those fancy ones where it can record and send what you’ve played to a computer through a wire…wherever the wire is…” Taehyung mumbled off in a tangent.

“That will definitely come in handy! He can send me what he’s done and I can play it back and amend it!”

“Imagine having such a remarkable skill and not being able to hear how good you are,” Taehyung sighed quietly, almost as if to himself more than Jimin.

Jimin sighed and nodded. It was something he’d thought about every single morning the student walked into his office and sat at the keyboard within it. He thought about it every time his fingers danced over the keys, when he quoted a new piece he was working on, always. Jimin thought about it always.

“It doesn’t stop him from doing it, and that’s more important than anything,” Jimin sighed forcing a smile.

They checked inside of the box, making sure that the said cable was still attached, and Taehyung even threw in a rather dusty book of sheet music that he had once intended on learning. Every payday to Taehyung came an impulse to buy something random and most of the time expensive and the keyboard had come the same way. As Jimin recalled, he had spent an entire seven days attempting to learn songs that would seduce Namjoon – or anyone else for that matter – and when he’d realised how hard it was going to be he gave up.

Something about the action seemed right, like it was the right thing to do, and he hoped that his student would feel the same way, and not offended by the action. With his kind plan set in place, all he had to do was make his way to the student’s address, and thankfully Namjoon had offered to give him a lift there.

☁☁☁

Beom Beom had tugged at Yoongi’s sleeve with haste before pointing to the front door. His little face was innocent and curious, body covered in his winter pyjamas and a dressing gown he was quickly growing out of, eyes blinking expectantly. Yoongi had been dozing off as they watched an animal programme that his little brother loved when he was roused, and he was still somewhat confused when two little hands began to eagerly sign that someone was knocking on the front door.

That woke the teenager up.

With alert, images of his Mother or Step-Father making their way back to see what more they could squeeze from him, he told his brother to stay put on the sofa. He inched his way to the door with suspicion, glancing at the time on the microwave as he tried to wonder who an earth would knock this time of the evening. His heart rate was high, and he hoped and prayed that maybe it was the old lady from next door needing help with something, how he wished he had one of those glass seeing points to show him who was there. Beom suddenly stood in front of him and the action alone made Yoongi jump out of his skin.

“He says he’s your teacher, hyungie. He’s calling through the door.”

Yoongi went into panic once more and crouched down, bringing Beom to him, hoisting him onto his hip. He looked over his little brother’s face, unaware that Park Jimin was knocking softly, and hopefully, from the other side. The teenager placed a finger in front of his lips, gesturing for his kid brother to be quiet for a moment, before he unlocked the door and opened it. The chain was drawn across and the door clanged from the strain of it as Yoongi set eyes on his music teacher, his eyebrows immediately furrowing in confusion. He’d let his guard down and already the blonde idiot was here, scoping out the apartment to run back and tell social services, no doubt. Anger boiled in his stomach.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Min Yoongi, but I wanted to drop this off for you,” Jimin spoke slowly, his hands gesturing to the big keyboard box he’d lugged up the stairs, “I don’t have to come in, it’s okay.”

The teenager looked over him for a minute, still a little on edge and expecting a police officer or someone to pop out from round a corner, but then he saw the keyboard. He glanced back to his teacher’s face and was met by a pure genuineness; Park Jimin was stood in front of him in a stupidly fluffy looking hat and a big, baby blue coat that made him look like a cerulean marshmallow. He closed the door to lower his brother back to his feet before opening it fully. The action caused Jimin to smile.

“Is it just you?” Yoongi practically demanded.

The music teacher nodded, his lips falling to a strange pout as they always did when he was taken aback by Yoongi’s tone, but he smiled nevertheless. The teenager glanced around the hall warily before sidestepping, one hand reaching to the back of Beom’s head as he allowed Park Jimin to enter. He would have offered a hand with the heavy box but he still felt rather on edge. This could still be a rouse, a trick, a way for the school to find out what was going on. The damn music teacher could be a spy for all he knew, but he also considered the fact that it was the first time a stranger had stepped inside for a long, long time.

That’s when the embarrassment hit.

After the teacher had sent him home at lunch, Yoongi had come straight here, intending to maybe prep the evening meal or take Beom’s clothes to the laundrette but the minute his body hit the sofa he’d drifted to a well-needed sleep, coat still zipped to his chin and school shoes still tied to his feet. His home wasn’t messy but it wasn’t tidy either. Plates and pans from earlier still littered the countertops and a collection of his brother’s toy trains, once his own toy trains, were scattered across the floor. He didn’t know whether to dive bomb and swoop the mess out of the way or to maybe just send the teacher away but it was already too late, Park-ssi was crouched in front of Beom with a kind smile.

“Nice to meet you, I’m your brother’s school teacher. You can call me Jimin,” Jimin spoke with a smile and signed along with his hands.

Beom, shy at first as he stood in front of the stranger in his pyjamies, glanced to Yoongi. The male paused for a moment, his mind allocating a name to his teacher’s face, a fitting name, before he glanced back to Beom. He nodded and forced a little smile to which the young boy mirrored it and turned back to Park Jimin.

“I’m Beom Beom, hyungie’s little brother,” Beom grinned happily, signing along too.

A guy standing in the next block of apartments wouldn’t have been able to miss the way that Jimin’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Yoongi didn’t blame him, he was undoubtedly biased but his little brother was the cutest, sweetest boy in the whole universe so naturally he charmed everyone in his path. His teacher stood back to his full height, patting the boy on the head softly, before turning to Yoongi. He pulled his hat off and his yellowy locks fell in every direction, fuzzed up from the material they’d been trapped under, his hands twisting the fluffy bucket hat nervously.

“I won’t stay long, I just wanted to drop these off for you. If we’re going to get you exam ready by December then it’ll be handy for you to practise at home, and I figured,” Jimin paused.

The teacher glanced once to the little boy who was now crouched on his knees, examining the keyboard box, his little hands brushing the surface. His eyes met the student’s once more and his tone was lowered considerably.

“It’s a good piece of kit. I figured if you ever needed to, it would sell for good money,” the teacher spoke softly in a dainty whisper.

Yoongi bit onto his lip and nodded a little, shame crept onto his cheeks and yet a fumbling feeling in his stomach stopped him from talking. Sure, passersby at the station took pity on him and dropped a few notes or pennies when he played at the station, but a stranger had never done something as kind and out of their way as this, especially a teacher. He was used to Jaebum barging in with a bag of groceries or an old coat he didn’t use and wanted to thrust at Yoongi, but they were blood.

This was different, and it made Yoongi feel…different.

“Now this you will need to hand back to me, I’ve got it on loan from the school under my name,” Jimin continued and held out a pitch black laptop bag, pausing, “Unless you already have a laptop? I wasn’t sure and didn’t want to presume either way but,”

“I don’t have a laptop,” Yoongi interrupted the teacher from what seemed like a tangent.

“Ah, well, there you go! You can reach my school email at anytime about the exam or a piece, I check my inbox like clockwork so I’m easy to get hold of!” Jimin smiled.

“Park-ssi,” Yoongi started but the teacher stopped him.

“You can call me Jimin since we’re standing in your house,” he paused, glancing over Yoongi’s face, “I was able to find out through school records since this is an academic visit.”

The music teacher laughed, genuinely, and it was a heavenly sound that made Beom look up and smile happily. It was the same way Beom looked at Jinyoung or Mark, an admiration for someone outside of the family. Yoongi stroked through his brother’s hair for a moment before nodding a little, pushing a smile onto his face. His eyes lingered to the keyboard and naturally he recognised what make and model it was, what it was capable of, and it finally set in what the teacher had done for him.

“Why don’t you offer Park-ssi,”

“Jimin,” the teacher interrupted with a warm smile, signing.

“Beom Beom, offer Jimin-ssi a glass of water,” Yoongi finished.

The boy did as he was told, smiling excitedly as he went to the cupboards, standing on a stool to reach for a clean glass before filling it from the tap. Yoongi turned back to Jimin, still feeling a little tongue-tied at the gesture. His throat began to feel thick with emotion once more after what seemed like such a long, emotional day.

“Thank me by working hard and aiming high, Yoongi. Use the keyboard as much as you want, use the laptop for whatever you need, you could even look for jobs and things on there! Just don’t go on any…untoward websites, the school can easily check the history and it’ll come up under my name,” Jimin laughed as a blush rose to his cheeks.

“Nothing kills the mood more than sharing a bed with your little brother, Jimin-ssi.”

Yoongi didn’t hear himself say it but knew he had, and absolutely hated himself for a hot minute, wondering why an earth he’d ever say something like that in front of a teacher! But then, he supposed, Jimin-ssi had brought it up in the first place. Beom arrived back by his side and offered the teacher a drink, which he gladly took, and the two started to converse. Yoongi lost most of it because his eyes glanced back to the keyboard on the floor and the laptop bag that was in his hands, weighing heavy. The school only gave out laptops for the real high achievers to use and he smirked a little, feeling as if he’d scammed his own school, but he was grateful. So very, very grateful.

A tug came on his jogging bottoms. Yoongi glanced first to his brother, and then Jimin-ssi.

“Beom was just telling me he wants to be a piano player when he grows up, like you,” Jimin smiled.

“What happened to being a robot dog trainer?” Yoongi asked as he craned his neck to peer at his brother.

“I’m going to play piano until robot dogs are invented, _then_ I’ll be a robot dog trainer,” Beom paused, looking up to Jimin, “I’m going to make them do chores.”

The teacher laughed happily, nodding his head a little in agreement, before replying that he’d do the exact same. Content with the answer, Beom smiled and went back to gazing over the keyboard. Yoongi made eye contact with Jimin-ssi once more.

“Thank you again, Jimin-ssi, I really appreciate this,” he practically whispered, feeling the lowness of his voice in his throat.

Jimin-ssi patted his shoulder before pulling his hat back over his head.

“It’s okay, Yoongi, I know. Find your way with the keyboard and then email me days for afterschool practise. I can come here to teach if you can’t get anyone to watch over Beom, no trouble,” Jimin finished.

Yoongi nodded, even bowed, and took the empty glass from him. He and his little brother saw him off, smiling as Beom politely waved and bowed too, and Jimin-ssi disappeared down the hall as if he’d never been there in the first place. Yoongi closed the door and locked it, pulling the chain across, and debated if any of what had just happened _had_ happened, but the large keyboard on the floor and laptop bag in his hand was evidence enough. Whatever he’d previously thought of Park Jimin he scratched from memory, and in that moment, became hell-bent on one day returning the favour for his music teacher.

☁☁☁

It was Jimin who had initiated a rather subtle intimacy between the two. His friends were used to his tender touches; Namjoon appreciated the way Jimin would carefully take his glasses off and comb his hair whenever he fell asleep on the couch, and Taehyung was all but dependant on Jimin’s sweet cheek kisses and cuddles. Min Yoongi had come to depend on his other senses after growing up without hearing. He knew by smell just when food was ready instead of listening for a timer, had to read every inch of his little brother’s face with his eyes to make sure he was alright as he couldn’t hear any emotion in his tiny voice.

When Jimin had leaned across, his small, yet soft hand taking hold of Yoongi’s mid-play, changing its position on the keys to produce the right note, it had meant something. The delicate smell of his music teacher’s hand cream lingered in Yoongi’s nostrils, and for a moment, all his eyes could look at was Jimin’s soft skin. Thankfully his limbs went into autopilot as he continued to play the note and the way Jimin smiled in his peripheral vision was enough to almost completely distract the student.

Touch meant something to Yoongi. He was rarely touched; occasionally patted on the arm by the elderly lady next door or the ghost of a cashier’s hand as they placed change in his hands. Naturally he relied on Beom to be touchy with him, Jaebum too, and even Jinyoung and Mark if the occasion called for it. Touching was a whole other type of communication that only bestowed a few select people he came across. Sometimes he stared at his ceiling and wondered what it would be like to have a significant other stroke down his arm, tease their fingertips down his neck; talk with their bodies and nothing else. That was something special, and the music teacher had unknowingly emitted it.

Jimin had been pleasantly surprised that Yoongi had emailed him rather soon to arrange a lesson after school. Friday evening worked best for Yoongi, and with the majority of Jimin’s friends probably working or already busy with plans, it wasn’t like he would miss out on anything either. Not that he wanted to, of course, he only had so much time with his student before the big exam and then he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see him again.

It was a thought that weighed within both of their minds.

For their first session Jimin had brought along a few of baked blueberry muffins he’d made the night before. The blonde male had worried it may appear rude to bring a whole batch, ‘ _Maybe it would give the impression I think that they don’t have any food and need saving, and I don’t want them to think that…I think_ ,’ Jimin had rambled to a Namjoon-distracted Taehyung while placing the paper cases in the tins. He’d settled on the three largest muffins in a clean Tupperware, telling himself that it looked like it was an afterthought, that Yoongi would take them and think Jimin had thought to bring them as he left his front door.

Then the music teacher wondered why he cared so much about a cause for some baked goods. 

Yoongi had been alone when Jimin had arrived a little around six. Beom was spending a few hours with an older cousin – the cousin that had promised Yoongi work – and so the two were left alone to study the keyboard. The instrument hadn’t come with a stand and so they had laid it across the small dining table and crowded around it together, a slight squeeze, but soon forgotten once the tutoring began. It felt like any of their morning sessions, Yoongi would play, consult him about pieces for his exams, Jimin would advise a note or key change. Two hours flew by fast and Jimin no longer wanted to take too much of Yoongi’s time in case Beom was expected back home. Yoongi had thanked him with a slight bow before the music teacher had left.

They had three weeks before Yoongi’s scheduled exam. Jimin had managed to convince his music superiors to put the student forward for the Certificate of Performance, and even with a little persuasion from Eunwoo, he’d managed to get it. The exam was a week before the Christmas break and had a big red bubble around it on the calendar in Jimin’s office. Min Yoongi was one of the most calmly determined students that Jimin had ever come across in his rather short teaching career, but then he supposed with the immense talent the boy possessed, these exams weren’t exactly a mountain climb. They practised daily at school, sometimes even during Yoongi’s lunch hour, and his flat was beginning to feel like a second home to Yoongi.

During one of their practises, the front door had unlocked and a stranger had come inside. Jimin had turned in his seat, his face paling a little at the sight of the very intimidating male that had arrived, but once Beom rushed inside to take off shoes he felt at ease. Yoongi had turned and introduced them both, and Jimin had learnt that the tall, muscled male was the cousin who tended to look after them both. He smelt like oil, unaware that the big puffer coat he wore hid the mechanic overalls beneath it, his matte black hair poking out from beneath a large beanie. His jaw line was sharp enough for Jimin to lose a finger had he touched it. Jimin could easily see the similarities in the three faces, especially the eyes, but Jaebum seemed friendly enough and even shook his hand and offered a smile. From that point on, Beom tended to stick around during the tutor sessions.

The child would be the one to open the door now instead of Yoongi; he would offer Jimin a glass of water and sit at the table with them. The elder Min brother was set the boy to do his homework but Beom always ended up listening to the music, his little eyes drifting from the book in front of him to watch the way his older brother’s fingers danced across the keys. Sometimes Yoongi would be so fixed on the keyboard in front of him that he wouldn’t hear Beom’s request for help. Jimin would lean over, talk the boy through his timetables and help him. It was beginning to feel oddly domestic.

Exactly a week to the exam date, Yoongi had found himself so stressed and worked up about conquering a particularly tough note that he hadn’t prepared any food for himself or Beom. Jimin thought nothing of offering his own cooking skills, especially as Yoongi looked like he may rip his hair from his scalp at any moment.

“Relax, Min Yoongi,” Jimin started, finding his feet, “I can whip something simple up in no time. My friends praise me very highly for my kimchi jjigae.”

Yoongi had looked up at him with a barrage of emotions in his eyes. Stubbornness first and foremost, that only he should be the one to provide the food that Beom ate, but it was replaced with a tired softness. The kind of softness one felt whenever they were helped out by someone considered an acquaintance. The music teacher watched as Yoongi’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, a tell-tale that the student wasn’t sure what to say. Jimin patted his shoulder and a kind smile grew on his face.

“Think of it as a thank you, for allowing me to come here so often and teach you!” Yoongi still looked a little unconvinced, but then his stomach had rumbled so loudly Jimin’s heart had softened, “Keep practising, Beom will show me the ropes.”

And so Jimin had stood in the little kitchen with his little helper. Beom seemed quite used to helping out, passing Jimin pots and pans or ingredients, even carefully slicing some mushrooms and carrots under his guidance. The sounds from the keyboard continued to play confidently through the kitchen and occasionally Jimin would turn around, wave his arms dramatically to catch Yoongi’s attention and sign about the wrong note, before turning back to stirring the spicy stew. The music teacher offered some of it on a little spoon for Beom to taste, after blowing on it carefully, and smiled delightedly when the child’s eyes lit up happily.

Yoongi continued to play and play, not even acknowledging the wonderful smell of food that wafted through the living room until Beom placed a bowl in front of him and forced some chopsticks in his hands. The student looked a little flustered but smiled gratefully, once at Beom and then Jimin. The keyboard was moved temporarily and the three ate hungrily.

“Thank you, Jimin-ssi,” Yoongi spoke in between mouthfuls, “This tastes amazing.”

The music teacher had been a little taken back because it was the first thing he’d seen the student so openly enthused about that wasn’t a piano or relative. When Beom exaggeratedly nodded and kissed his lips together like a happy chef both he and Yoongi had laughed and smiled.

“Jimin-ssi, you look so young to be my hyungie’s teacher,” Beom suddenly spoke when his bowl was empty.

Yoongi immediately sent him a glance, one only a hyung could send to his little brother, but Jimin laughed a little and took it as nothing less than a compliment. He supposed that maybe it was his casual clothes that sent the impression. Yoongi and Beom had been so used to seeing him in smart trousers, a shirt and jumper or cardigan, but the more he frequented the Min house, the less he felt he needed to impress. He was currently in some comfy blue jeans and a big, fluffy white jumper, made to look oversized and hang from his figure, with some English words written across the front in red.

“I’m only twenty-five, it wasn’t so long ago that I was your hyung’s age, studying hard for my own exams,” Jimin spoke with a smile. 

Yoongi had taken the information in silently. For a while he had wondered just how old his teacher was, his face and eyes had always looked too young and fresh to be anywhere close to thirty. The way Jimin said it made Yoongi feel as if there wasn’t such a distance between them, and the thought made him feel a centimetre closer to the blonde male. Beom had asked what Jimin was like at school and the male had joyfully complied, and Yoongi only tuned in halfway through after pulling himself from his thoughts.

“…a quiet student can still love the stage, I loved to take part in the school musicals and shows. I’ve always loved the arts. Do you like singing and dancing, Beom?” Jimin asked.

Beom thought for a moment as he rounded the table, picking up the empty plates, to which Yoongi pressed a kiss into his hair before the boy answered Jimin’s question. Yoongi didn’t catch any of it. His brother’s back was to him and his hands were full so the boy couldn’t even sign but the silver-haired male fell back into his thoughts once more with nothing to keep him in the conversation. All he could imagine was Jimin, how he would have looked at school, would they have been friends if they were in the same year? Was he as kind as a student as he was a teacher?

But then he saw a lone stage. He’d play piano to one side of it as Jimin danced in a billowing blouse under white stage lights that would chase his graceful movements. At the end of the dance he’d bow to an audience, turn to Yoongi, and send him a dazzling smile, the type of smile that Jimin always sent him whenever Yoongi stopped playing and looked at him for an opinion. Could Jimin have seen what he sees now in Yoongi had they been students of the same age?

“I’ll help wash the dishes and go back home,” Jimin spoke and signed, catching Yoongi’s attention.

The student cancelled every thought and shook his head, telling his music teacher that he and Beom could handle the washing up, and that Jimin should head home before it got too late. Yoongi always worried about someone so innocent-looking like Jimin wandering through their neighbourhood. Jimin threatened Yoongi not to practise for the rest of the night and get some much-needed rest, and as his hand held onto Yoongi’s arm softly, the student couldn’t help but nod and agree. He was beginning to feel powerless under Jimin’s gaze.

The music teacher said his goodbyes, wrapped himself up in a big fluffy coat, and soon enough the front door was shut and it was only Yoongi and Beom. He hastily locked the door and drew across the chain, but lingered there on the spot, thinking of Jimin making his way down the endless stairs to the front door of the complex. Yoongi thought about Jimin for the rest of the night.

☁☁☁

Min Yoongi hadn’t seen Jimin after that for four days. His stress levels, like his blood level, were outrageously high. Beom had come down with a bad bout of sickness and flu that had the teenager by his side twenty-four-seven, day and night. One minute the boy would turn so cold that Yoongi would have to bundle him up in every sheet, blanket and even bath towel they had and cradle him against his chest like a burrito, but then Beom would break into a sweat and the teenager would have to practically rip the pyjamas from his body to bathe him with a cold flannel.

He couldn’t even think about piano, about his exam piece, about the certificate. He couldn’t even think about Jimin, his thoughts were consumed by whatever his baby brother might need next; a sick bowl, a water bottle, a cuddle. Jaebum couldn’t miss anymore days at work, Mark had flown off to the states on business once more and Jinyoung was up to his neck in an important case. From Saturday night to Wednesday afternoon it was constantly all on Yoongi. He barely slept because Beom was barely sleeping. He carried his baby brother to the sofa to watch television, took his temperature, stared at his sleeping face and chewed on his nails waiting for Beom to wake up with a start and be sick.

He’d mopped up so much sick that he could no longer smell it, and Yoongi tended to smell it more than most. Everything in the damn flat was covered in it but he couldn’t get down to the laundrette because he couldn’t bear to take his eye from the boy for more than ten minutes. He’d sent one email to Jimin at around 4 o’clock in the morning on the Monday.

From: MinYoongi@QuickMail.com

To: ParkJimin@SeoulCentralArtsDept.com

Beom is real sick. I can’t do anything until he’s better. Please don’t come here. M.Y.

If Jimin had replied, Yoongi didn’t know, because he hadn’t checked his email or been near the laptop since. He panicked at the thought of giving the laptop back to Jimin with his brother’s vomit trapped beneath each key. He texted Jaebum updates whenever he could but never really read over his cousin’s replies. By the time Beom was on the mend, keeping his food down and beginning to chatter a little more, Yoongi was dead on his feet. He had twenty-four hours until his exam and that only set in now that his mind wasn’t entirely taken over by his little brother’s urgent needs and care.

Yoongi didn’t hear the door unlock but he felt the vibration of the chain halting the door from opening. He turned from his place on the sofa, Beom’s little body curled beside him wrapped in the last, last bath towel, and saw Jaebum’s hand wave desperately from the gap. He got up carefully and unbolted the door to let his cousin in, Jinyoung following at his ankles.

“Fucking hell, Yoong,” Jaebum blurted the minute his eyes scoured across Yoongi’s face.

No doubt he was examining the bags under his eyes and his greasy, scraped back hair. Jinyoung was holding the largest care basket within his arms and didn’t stop to examine Yoongi, he immediately rushed across to the sofa and began to fuss over Beom; the teenager couldn’t hear the way he talked to the child so sweetly. Jaebum was now holding Yoongi’s shoulders, face contorting, nose wrinkling, examining his younger cousin. Yoongi nodded and huffed in agreement. He didn’t have to check a mirror to know he looked like shit, and probably smelt of it too.

“You look like you’ve been through the wars…”

Jaebum started his sentence in a low voice and his words left hanging as if something was going to follow it. Yoongi watched his cousin’s lips patiently. Jaebum glanced once to where Jinyoung and Beom was, Jinyoung was smiling widely and holding up a fluffy teddy to the child, before turning back to Yoongi. He swallowed heavily, shuffled on the spot, and his jaw suddenly gritted. He looked anywhere but at Yoongi and the teenager already knew what was coming.

“Jae, you couldn’t get out of work, it was outta your hands,” Yoongi started quietly but his cousin shook his head and interrupted him.

“Fuck work, Yoongi, I should have been here, day in day out, helping you two. Look at you, damn it! You literally look half fucking dead and you have your big exam tomorrow,” he grumbled angrily.

There was a silence and within it, Jaebum signed an apology, a heartfelt apology but Yoongi swatted at his hands to stop. He rubbed at his cousin’s arm and shook his head. He could never be angry at Jaebum, he was the one who helped him and his brother more than anyone. There was another quiet moment between them before Jaebum pulled him into a strong hug, patting at his back as if the gesture would spring a little life back into Yoongi. Deep down, it did. Yoongi didn’t hear Jinyoung make his way towards them but felt the vibration of his footsteps.

“I brought some fresh blankets,” Jinyoung spoke slowly as he tore the cousin’s apart, making sure Yoongi was watching him, “A pair of pj’s that Beom keeps at Jae’s, a whole bunch of medicines and some soup for you to eat. Make sure you eat it after you shower.”

The plan was for Jaebum and Jinyoung to take the child to Jinyoung’s place so that Yoongi could take some time to himself to prepare for his big exam. After 96 hours of Yoongi being beside Beom, the teenager was a little hesitant to leave him, but he knew it was best. He needed to take time for himself and there was no-one else that he’d trust Beom with more right now than Jaebum, Jinyoung and Mark. For the next few hours atleast he had to turn his mind back to his keyboard and exam performance piece, then he could consume it with his kid brother once more.

Jaebum went to the sofa. A rather fond smile hovered across his face as he scooped Beom’s little body up with ease, the two talking, their words lost to Yoongi’s tired eyes. Jinyoung patted his shoulder tentatively to catch his attention, and the teenager turned back, to be met with one of the attorney’s nicest smiles he’d ever seen. It reminded him of Jimin’s almost instantly.

“Have a warm shower, eat, call your piano teacher and then rest. Tomorrow will be a walk in the park for you, Yoongi, don’t stress about it. We all believe in you so much, and Mark’s flying back tomorrow so he’ll be on hand again soon,” Jinyoung spoke softly.

Yoongi nodded a little. He kissed over Beom’s face, the only thing that any of them could see through the bundle of blankets that Jaebum had him wrapped in, told his cousin and his boyfriend all the things that Beom could stomach before they left. The teenager stood at the kitchen window and watched them get into Jinyoung’s car, glad that Jaebum sat in the backseat with Beom, and then they drove away and the teenager felt numb. Nevertheless, he somewhat followed Jinyoung’s instructions; the attorney had left the bowl of stew on the counter to be placed in the fridge and Yoongi immediately warmed some up and ate it with the passion of a hungry dog.

He hopped in the shower. The numbness was starting to fall away now that he had eaten and the good food had given him a little energy. The warm water ran over his pale body and that too made him feel more alive. His mind went to Beom, naturally, wondering whether they had reached Jinyoung’s apartment yet, if the car ride had made him feel nauseous, or sleepy. When he stepped out of the shower he realised that they’d also taken the huge bag of laundry with them and Yoongi felt so incredibly touched and lucky that he didn’t know what to do with himself, until his feet shuffled on autopilot. Soon enough he was laying on his bare mattress face down, cheeks pressed against the pillow, his body curled on the right side of the bed as if his brother was asleep beside him and he was dead to the world for hours.

He slept like the dead from 3 o’clock in the afternoon to 7 in the evening. Yoongi’s head still felt a little fuzzy and out of place like his body was off kilter after such a hectic scramble of a few days that he had just had. He went back to the fridge and helped himself to one more serving of Jinyoung’s stew, enjoying the taste of it a little more this time around now he had slept well and wasn’t so ravenous. The city was beginning to become dark already and the realisation of night coming and bringing tomorrow’s dawn with it filled his body with dread and anxiety.

He tried to play his keyboards but his hands were so nervous that they kept slipping onto the wrong notes even when he was just trying to casually warm up, which also filled his body with dread and anxiety. There was one thing he needed right now. He pushed the keyboard away and reached for his coat, pulling it across his shoulders and pulling on a beanie to follow suit. Yoongi checked his mobile, the cracked screen showing a couple of texts from Jaebum and Jinyoung, both telling him that Beom had managed to keep his food down again, and then one from Mark to wish Beom well quickly. Feeling a little more at ease on the brother front, Yoongi left the apartment, locking the door behind him and stepping out into the rainy night.

☁☁☁

When Jimin heard the rapping of knuckles at his front door he couldn’t help but frown in confusion at the sound. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Taehyung had left for work hours ago and Namjoon was away on some management course in Gwangju, and as far as the blonde knew, Jungkook would probably be studying with friends in the library. He’d simply been sat on the sofa enjoying his rather rare night to himself, dressed in his comfiest pyjamies, his skin facemask-fresh. He’d been eating strawberries and watching romantic movies, willing himself not to cry but doing so anyway, distracting himself from the horrid storm outside.

Jimin was so scared of storms it was unreal.

He pulled his blanket with him, clutching at it, so that if there was a murderer at the door then he could simply pull the blanket over himself and hide like a possum. The logic was flawed but the thought was there. The knock came again but a little slower this time, a little less axe-wielding maniac which put Jimin at ease as he opened it cautiously. The blonde blinked once, twice in puzzlement. Fat droplets of rain ran off the hooded figure’s body and onto the tiled floor of the outside hall. It was the only sound as Jimin’s mind put the pieces together and realised who was standing in front of him.

“Min Yoongi!” Jimin gasped.

The teenager had vanished off the side of the damn world these last few days. There had been one email about Beom being sick and the rest of Jimin’s rather eager replies went unread after that. He’d sit at his desk each morning, watching the clock, hoping that the student would arrive and waltz into his office but when he never did it made Jimin feel worried for him. The exam was important, yes, but in Jimin’s eyes the health of both Min boys was more so, and he would squeeze his eyes shut before he fell asleep and pray that someone was looking out for them.

Now, Yoongi was standing at his door, soaked wet to the bone and shivering. Jimin ushered him with such haste; his thoughts running a mile a minute to keep up with his actions. What the hell had happened for his student to suddenly show up like this, like someone had thrown him in the sea and hauled him back out? 

Jimin blurted out anything, urgent words that Yoongi couldn’t hear anyway, closing the front door and taking another look over the teen’s appearance. The boy looked like he hadn’t slept in days, Jimin swallowed heavily, accepting that he probably hadn’t. There were huge bags under his eyes and his lips looked chapped, his nose was pink but drops of water ran down from strands of his hair and gathered at the tip. Jimin wanted to say something, anything, but Yoongi looked so deeply into his soul that he felt a little powerless, like his feet were stuck to the floor.

They stood there for a moment, rain against the window, mumblings from the television, drops of water splattering the laminate floor.

But then Yoongi’s shoulders convulsed from the cold and his shaking hands left his pockets to rub at his arms. Jimin sprang into action, rushing off to grab a fluffy, blue towel that hung from the electric heater in the bathroom. He practically skidded along the floor when he rushed back to the student; Yoongi still looking at him like a puppy behind a shop window.

He instructed the teenager take his coat off so that he could wrap the towel around him. The wet coat fell carelessly to the floor and stayed there. Jimin bundled the boy up quickly, neither thinking nor caring for boundaries, his only instinct to get the boy dry and warm before he’d get sick himself. He removed Yoongi’s wet beanie from his head and grimaced at the squelching sound it made and let it fall on top of the coat. With care, he rubbed the towel against his wet, silver hair in silence. Yoongi said nothing. He simply stood there and allowed his music teacher to fuss and dry him. Jimin sighed as they made eye contact once more, his hands carefully wrapped the towel around Yoongi’s shoulders and held it there in place at his chest.

He looked so small and defeated bundled up in a towel like this.

“Is Beom okay?” Jimin asked even though he was scared of the response.

Yoongi nodded, his lean body still shivering a little. Jimin’s eyes rolled over Yoongi’s being after that, investigating, hunting for any physical detail that might give away why the student had ended up here the way he did. Beneath the towel was a simple white t-shirt and some wet, black jeans, a simple pair of trainers tied to his feet; there were no tells.

“Are you okay?”

Yoongi nodded again.

“Okay, well that’s,” Jimin replied a little helplessly, “that’s good.”

They stood once again in a silence and Jimin tried ever so hard to understand why Yoongi just kept looking at him like he was the last thing on Earth. If he moved an inch, leaning on one hip and then switching balance to the other, Yoongi’s eyes followed him. No matter how many times Jimin would hear that Yoongi was okay, he still felt a sickness in his stomach that something wasn’t right. The teenager’s lips then moved, his teeth chattering a little as he spoke.

“I just needed to see you, Jimin-ssi, so bad.” 

Jimin nodded a little, and his lip wobbled, because he wanted to say something but he’d never heard or seen such thick emotion coming from the student before. Overwhelmed was an absolute understatement.

“Are you sure Beom’s okay?!” Jimin asked again with urgency.

Yoongi nodded a little.

“He’s with my cousin.”

Knowing the child’s location put the music teacher at ease, if just by a smidge, and he accepted the answer. His eyes dragged over Yoongi’s being and he released hold of the towel, his fingers knitting together as he took a step back, insisting he find some warm clothes for Yoongi. He went off again this time to his bedroom. There was a pile of fresh clothes he had literally just folded from the dryer that evening and he pulled a pair of navy jogging bottoms with a matching sweater. He grabbed for a pair of socks and house slippers and returned to where Yoongi was by the door.

The student was looking around a little more, this time, his feet still stuck to the spot. His head was craning, glancing at the sofa, the television and the fairy lights strung around the banister of the metal, spiral staircase that led to Namjoon’s room. Once he heard Jimin’s feet he glanced back, slightly apologetic, as if caught in the act. Jimin simply smiled warmly at him and directed the student to the bathroom to change. The teacher watched him go before scooping up the wet coat and beanie to load into the dryer. He boiled the kettle and prepared two mugs for a hot chocolate when he heard the shuffle of Yoongi’s feet.

“Jimin-ssi? Where should I put my wet clothes?” he asked quietly.

The clothes fit him perfectly. Jimin enjoyed clothes that were on the oversized side for comfort purposes but even so, the student looked rather comfortable in the matching set, socks and slippers included. Jimin pointed to the loaded dryer with a smile as the kettle bubbled and boiled.

“Place them in there and then go sit down, I’ll bring you a hot drink,” he paused, glancing over Yoongi, “Have you eaten?”

“I’ve eaten,” Yoongi spoke quietly, “Thank you.”

The teenager bent down and placed his wet, bundled up clothes into the dryer and shut the door. He sent Jimin one last smile before shuffling off in the direction of the television. Faintly, Jimin could hear the sound of the couch squeak as Yoongi sat on it and made himself comfortable, which gave him comfort. He prepared the drinks, set the tumble dryer and joined him, perching on an armchair after placing the mug in front of Yoongi.

“I searched around on the school accounts and found your address,” Yoongi suddenly blurted, his legs curled to his chest, arms around them, “I hope that’s okay.”

“I suppose it makes us even,” Jimin offered with a soft laugh.

The student cracked a faint smile but his gaze was stuck to the floor.

“I’m on my own for the night anyway. I’m a little thankful for the distraction, I hate thunderstorms, and I hate being alone in thunderstorms.”

Useless conversation was something the music teacher could produce with ease, but deep in Jimin’s mind was a little alarm bell. This was definitely not in the teacher-student code of conduct. He could already hear what the other teachers would think of him, what they’d all think, the headmaster; the police might have to involve themselves and Jimin’s throat immediately felt thick from fright. What better way to start his career than to be fired for having a student in his house late in the evening?

But Yoongi just looked so…exhausted.

“BeomBeom doesn’t like them either. I find them a little fascinating but I’ve never heard thunder so I’m not the best judge on it,” Yoongi spoke simply.

He reached for his mug and tentatively sipped at it, and so Jimin thought to do the same, until a roll of loud thunder made him jump. He almost spilt half his drink onto himself and the chair; the music teacher scoffed at himself and placed the drink back onto the table. The blonde felt a little silly then, feeling rather het up about the storm when the boy opposite him couldn’t even _hear_. He debated raising the volume on the television to drown Mother Nature out for his own sake, but the student spoke up again, this time looking Jimin dead in the eye.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about the exam, Jimin-ssi?”

“I’m more worried about your health, Min Yoongi, and why you ended up on my doorstep so late at night, drenched!” Jimin couldn’t help but reply passionately.

Yoongi’s chapped lips parted to release a long, ragged sigh. He glanced around, Jimin could see the cogs in his head whirring eagerly, before he looked back to Jimin.

“For the last few days the only thing that could fill my mind was Beom, his health, trying to get him to eat but eat something that will settle his stomach, which is a hell of a hard task. He couldn’t sleep properly without breaking into a fever or waking up to be sick, I rang the doctors and they just said it was a bug and that he’d get through it, just keep him hydrated,” Yoongi stopped his runaway train of thought with a ragged breath, inhaling and exhaling, “It was just me on my own dealing with it all. No one else could get the time to help me until now. I tried to practise, Jimin-ssi but I can’t, my hands wouldn’t do it, not with you!”

“Yoongi,” Jimin soothed immediately.

The armchair was forgotten, in a moment under a flash of lightening Jimin moved to Yoongi’s side and pulled the teenager against him, squeezed the boy so tightly against his chest. Jimin couldn’t help but wonder how many people did this for him, supported him physically as much as emotionally, men needed reassuring hugs just as much as anyone else. He smiled a little when Yoongi’s hands gathered Jimin’s shirt and clasped it. Yoongi’s head was tucked under Jimin’s chin and he could faintly smell the boy’s shampoo. 

A loud, unruly roll of thunder echoed from outside and Jimin couldn’t help but flinch once again, which caused Yoongi to dart backwards in fright.

“Oh no, no, it was the thunder!” Jimin quickly implored.

Then they laughed a little, and Jimin couldn’t help but playfully shove at Yoongi’s arm, even though the sight of the boy snickering was the best thing he’d seen all night. They settled and fell into a silence once again, but this time they both seemed to register how close they suddenly were. Jimin’s knee was pressed against Yoongi’s, the back of his knuckle resting on his leg, whereas Yoongi’s arm lay across the back of the sofa beside Jimin’s torso. The teacher shuffled back a little bit at the sound of another alarm bell deep within his mind and Yoongi pulled his arm back to his own lap too.

“You’ve been under a lot of stress,” Jimin started, looking into Yoongi’s face so the boy could see his lips, “The exam can be moved, we can easily think of a reason and reschedule it if you need or want that,”

He stopped because of the determination flickering in Yoongi’s eyes like a burning torch. Jimin smiled a little. The student was so wildly set on his plan, right now his life insisted on it working out, and Jimin understood that. Yoongi didn’t even have to say anything to fight his corner.

“If you want to sit the exam, then you’re more than ready, Yoongi. You’ve practised daily for the last three or four weeks, and the way you play, your talent, it’s incredible. I’ve no idea why they haven’t got you on the gifted roster! You will literally sail through this so easily,” Jimin finished with an assuring smile.

“And then I won’t be a student anymore,” Yoongi blurted out in a strange tone, “I mean, I was only going to come in for the exam and leave afterwards to see BeomBeom.”

“I literally see you at school every morning, it’ll be so strange not to see you there,” Jimin paused, looking over Yoongi’s face, “Are you sure this is what you want? The school could help you, Yoongi, they could support you!”

“They’ll support me by getting social services involved, and then what happens?” Yoongi’s tone changed quicker than a car crash, “They split me and Beom up, shove him in some other family and me in some teenage refuge?”

“Yoongi,” Jimin started softly.

He ignored the alarms in his head, and instead acknowledged the way Yoongi’s body had tensed visibly, his eyes were staring off glassily, his teeth bearing down on his bottom lip. Jimin reached a tentative hand to the students shoulder. The silver-haired male immediately glanced at him, expression softening, as if already knowing Jimin was on his side. Jimin was; he was definitely on Yoongi’s side.

“I promise that I won’t say anything to the school. I’ll gladly feign innocence come new year when you drop out, aslong as you promise me to never stop playing, God damn it, Yoongi, you’re the most talented person I’ve ever taught and it’s all your hard work, what you’ve strived and worked for, when everything in the world has been against you!”

Jimin knew that he was speaking fast but he couldn’t help but get caught up in the passion behind his words and his emotions pushed them out quicker, eager for the boy in front of him to know; to believe. He paused himself, flailing his hands for a moment to think how to sign what he had just said but two cold hands glided over his cheeks and stayed there, perfectly still. Yoongi’s thumbs ghosted over his skin, causing the tiny, downy hair upon it to stand on end. Their eyes locked but before Jimin could study over the boy’s face or even try to process what he was going to do, Yoongi pushed himself forward.

Yoongi’s lips were slow yet urgent as they pressed against Jimin’s, catching the blonde’s bottom lip and toying with it, pushing a little harder.

All of the thoughts Jimin tried to keep from flickering into his brain those past few nights, when he lay in bed alone, suddenly came to a head. His heart felt overwhelmed once more. He’d forced himself to go to sleep every night this week when all his body wanted to do was run until he found Yoongi so that he’d know for sure he was okay. The elder put it down to the fact they’d spent so much time together, Yoongi and Beom, caring for them both in such a close space. He tried to process it, class it as nothing but a maternal instinct, his natural need to watch over others. Jimin had had to persuade himself of it every time he closed his eyes. He had tried to fight it, bury it down deep in his soul, but this kiss was enough to tell him everything his heart had tried to this whole time.

And so Jimin kissed him back.

Within an instant their torsos were flushed together. Jimin’s hands had found purchase around Yoongi’s wrists but they wandered until they reached the back of Yoongi’s neck, and then Yoongi’s legs slid over Jimin’s, they got a little closer, and the kiss became needier. The scratch of Yoongi’s stubble grazed across Jimin’s chin. Their noses bumped together. Their knuckles grabbed at clutches of hair or clothing.

Yoongi pulled back first to catch his breath and yet kept his body close to Jimin’s. Their foreheads were connected, the younger’s hair still felt a little damp against Jimin’s, and the older looked over Yoongi’s face to read his emotions.

“No one’s ever loved me like you do,” Yoongi’s eyes scrunched closed and he pulled back, opening them again, “I don’t mean like that, but you care for me, you want to help me, you sign to me when you think I’m not keeping up with your words. No one does that for me.”

“Sometimes you have to put a little trust and faith into people, Yoongi. You trusted me with the things that mean most to you, your brother, your home and yourself…I wouldn’t throw that back in your face,” Jimin whispered.

He watched the way that Yoongi’s face softened a little, and their lips grazed for nothing longer than a moment, before they looked into each other’s eyes once again. Yoongi’s fingertips trailed over Jimin’s plush lips, down his chin and along his jaw, his eyes watching his own movements against Jimin’s skin. The elder’s eyes slowly fell closed. Yoongi’s lips were then against Jimin’s ear.

“If you won’t say anything to the school…then I won’t tell anybody about this.”

Yoongi’s voice was the lowest Jimin had ever heard it, deeper than the reddest, velvet cherry, whispering, before his chapped lips moved to suck tenderly at the small patch of skin beneath Jimin’s earlobe. The elder’s breath immediately hitched and he clung onto the hem of Yoongi’s sweatshirt like his life depended on it. Jimin’s skin had never felt more alive under someone’s touch before; the elder honestly thought he was going to slip into another dimension the minute the tip of Yoongi’s tongue glided down to his neck.

A sudden roll of angry thunder made the building feel as if it was shaking and Jimin couldn’t stop the almighty squeal of fright from his mouth. He immediately latched his limbs around Min Yoongi, who looked up in confusion, only to see Jimin laughing to himself with flushed pink cheeks. The bolts of lightning were so strong they flickered through the apartment and Yoongi too laughed a little, his hands brushing over Jimin’s cheeks. Their noses grazed, before the younger spotted Taehyung’s headphones on the coffee table and smiled a little deviously.

“C’mon, I’ve got an idea.”

☁☁☁

Park Jimin wasn’t so sure how he’d gotten here, how the night’s events had played out the way they had, but it was true. Yoongi’s cold hands and hot mouth trailing over his bare chest was no dream. Jimin had led him through the quiet flat until they reached his bedroom, their hands entwined, and Yoongi had hovered a little in the doorway. Jimin had squeezed his hand softly. Their eyes connected once more and Jimin sent a soft smile before tugging the boy a little closer, and Yoongi came willingly. They stood at the end of the bed, kissing, kneading at clothes and tugging on hair until they’d both needed to come up for air once more.

“ _Are you sure you’re okay with this?”_ Jimin signed with trembling hands and a little smile.

Yoongi watched his hands sign before locking eyes with Jimin, a magnetic action that they both kept falling into, the younger reaching for his wrists and drawing him closer. He nodded, smiled, pressed a soft kiss onto Jimin’s lips.

“Yes. Are you?”

Jimin signed back in agreement and then the clothes came off. The elder stripped himself of his blue pyjamas first and Yoongi followed suit, peeling Jimin’s clothes from his body, and then they met back in the middle. The elder couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and grazing his hands across Yoongi’s collar and down his chest. A sweet giggle slipped from his lips as he felt the pace of Yoongi’s heartbeat bumping against his chest underneath his fingertips. Yoongi bit onto his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling. He reached and carefully placed the headphones over Jimin’s ears before plugging them into his phone. Jimin simply watched him, hands still exploring the younger’s lean chest, before a beautiful melody flowed through the headphones.

Pern, the Tiersen piece, the first thing Yoongi ever played for Jimin in their piano lessons. Another giggle slipped from his mouth but his eyes felt a little glassy too. Yoongi leaned across and placed a kiss to Jimin’s nose before his lips parted, paused and closed. He looked up to Jimin and the elder all but guessed.

“Yoongi,” Jimin breathed, “Your first time doesn’t have to be me.”

“Yes, it does,” Yoongi insisted, and with the music flowing through Jimin’s ears, it was his turn to lip read.

Their hands came together and younger had made Jimin lay on his back. The fairy lights around the headboard made both males appear equally angelic to the other. The kissing began once more with Yoongi leaning over Jimin, striving to take control which the older all but handed to him on a plate. He was young, a little cocky, and the smirk that would appear on Yoongi’s face whenever a heavenly gasp slipped from Jimin’s lips made the blonde’s blood sizzle beneath his skin. It was almost as if Yoongi was competing with the music in Jimin’s ears, kissing, licking and touching on every beat as he snaked his way down his chest to the elder’s boxers.

Yoongi looked like the naughtiest little angel as the dim, yellow light bounced from his messy silver hair, Jimin’s hardening length in his right hand and an innocent smile on his face.

His grip wasn’t soft or weak, but it wasn’t confidently firm either, and Jimin watched with entranced eyes as Yoongi watched himself pump the elder’s member. Yoongi couldn’t hear the little gasps for breath, or shallow whispers that fell from Jimin’s lips, but he could feel the way his skin broke into a shiver, his hips bucking ever so, and the way his length twitched within his hand until it was hard. The younger found his stride, especially when he glanced up and saw the way Jimin was watching him with such desperate eyes. Yoongi smirked when he rolled his thumb over Jimin’s tip and the male’s back arched instantly, and again, and again, provoking the same reaction each time.

Neither of them could wait any longer. Yoongi leaned down determined to see the way Jimin’s face would look if he were more worked up, closer to orgasm. Holding the base he allowed his tongue to trickle along Jimin’s length, his own eyes flickering from it to Jimin’s face. One of Jimin’s hands was grasping at the pillow bellow his head with his left, knuckles turned white, while the other fidgeted, moving to wherever, his chest, then the duvet, then the other side of the pillow. The second Yoongi slowly took Jimin’s tip into his mouth both hands suddenly sunk into the younger’s hair, and the male hummed a little with his cheeks around Jimin’s lengths, sinking down to take what he could in.

Jimin tried to control his hips, not wanting to buck up into Yoongi’s mouth and hurt him, push him too far, but his tongue was so intoxicating and when his hand twisted the base to match the pace of his mouth, Jimin all but moaned out with his whole chest. There was another flash of lightening through the window but the elder could barely recognise the storm outside now. His ears were filled with nothing but pretty piano music and his body was under a Min Yoongi shaped spell. Yoongi’s hand left his length and they both gripped at Jimin’s hips, squeezing at the skin, as he took more of Jimin in and the minute Jimin’s tip hit the back of Yoongi’s throat without the boy so much as blinking as a result the blonde had to hold himself back.

“I’m gonna,” he started, before realising it was of no use.

His hands quickly left Yoongi’s hair and he patted at his shoulders, squeezing the skin a little until Yoongi’s oh-so-heavenly mouth slid from his hard length with a sweet pop. Yoongi’s cheeks were now flushed pink, his eyes starry and wet lips parted in confusion. Jimin leaned forward and the headphones fell from his ears but he didn’t care as he brought Yoongi’s face close, cupping his cheeks to kiss him, giggling all the way through. Yoongi shimmied onto Jimin’s lap and the blonde looked at him with a naughty smile before capturing both of their members into his small hands, together, to pump them both.

“Oh fuck,” Yoongi immediately let out, his forehead falling against Jimin’s, hands clamped onto the elder’s shoulders.

If Jimin wasn’t in heaven already, he was now. Their noses grazed together, but the younger was so sensitive to Jimin’s touch that each time he leant forward to capture his lips in a kiss, Yoongi would gasp or whine instead. Jimin would squeeze his hands ever so, glancing down to watch his own hands and the way Yoongi’s member grazed against Jimin’s, the tips gathering precum ever so slowly together. When Yoongi was sucking him off, Jimin hadn’t really managed to gather any thoughts that weren’t about his mouth, lips or tongue, but now he was able to recognise that he was the first person to ever touch Yoongi like this. The thought brought a smug smile sliding across his face, especially when Yoongi’s nails dug into his shoulders.

With another bold squeeze, the friction more towards Yoongi’s length more than his own, the younger immediately gasped out a curse or two, his hands quickly patting Jimin’s chest.

“I’ll come, I’ll come, not yet,” Yoongi gasped out quickly, a velvety laugh falling from his lips.

Jimin nodded a little and released them both from his grip, his own length smacking against his torso. The younger smiled a little and Jimin couldn’t help but lean forward to grab at Yoongi’s cheeks and steal more kisses. As their tongues pushed together Jimin couldn’t help but buck his hips a little and Yoongi returned the action, his hands gripping at the back of Jimin’s neck. The elder pulled at Yoongi’s bottom lip with his teeth, looking at the younger’s face through his eyelashes before latching onto his neck. Yoongi moaned out once, then twice, and by then Jimin felt so intoxicated by the sound he wanted it on a mixtape.

“Come here,” Jimin purred into Yoongi’s neck, knowing the boy wouldn’t hear him but would feel the vibration of his throat.

The blonde pulled back. His hands stroked over Yoongi’s little waist and another smile fell onto his face before telling the male he’d be back in one moment. Jimin was always so preoccupied with his work that he never really expected male company, or had much time for himself most days, but he knew where he’d be able to find what they needed. He snuck into Taehyung’s room, feeling rather naughty for rooting through his best friend’s drawers stark naked without his knowledge, before he finally found the bottle of cherry lube and a condom.

Of course with Taehyung it would be cherry.

“Are you double, triple sure that this is what you want, Yoongi?” Jimin asked one final time as he once again sat in front of the boy, searching his face.

“I promise,” Yoongi replied before looking over Jimin’s pretty collar bone.

“What is it?” Jimin asked softly.

He stroked along Yoongi’s chin and tipped it up so that he’d meet his eye. He repeated his question again. Yoongi looked at the bottle of lube and the condom beside them. He scooped them up before pushing them at Jimin’s chest for the elder to take.

“Prep me,” Yoongi breathed with need, “I want you to be the one who…makes love to _me_.”

“I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” Jimin spoke softly.

With one final kiss, Jimin positioned the younger comfortably with a pillow on the bed beneath him. The blonde stroked his fingertips down Yoongi’s back, watching the way the boy shuddered and shivered beneath his touch, a smile working onto his face. He knew he had to be careful, this was Yoongi’s first time, they’d have to really depend on communicating properly with each other. Yoongi craned to look over his shoulder as Jimin sat between his legs, his hands ghosting down to the round, little cheeks of his bum.

“ _I’ll tap the amount of fingers on your back, okay?_ ” Jimin signed.

Yoongi gave a nod. Jimin popped the lube bottle and poured a good amount over his fingers, wanting to use a little too much in comparison to the opposite. He kneeled forward, pressing a kiss on Yoongi’s forehead before gently tapping the dimples of Yoongi’s back with his index finger.

“One.”

He spoke for good measure, gently holding the male’s cheek to one side to grant himself better access, slowly pushing his finger until he was a knuckle deep. Jimin’s eyes flickered from his hand to Yoongi’s face, wanting to watch for every contortion, to make sure he was okay, not hurting. When he was met by Yoongi biting onto a cushion with a needy look in his eyes Jimin had to take a breath himself. Jimin pushed his finger a little further before bringing it out, hearing the way Yoongi’s breath hitched at the action, proceeding with care. After a moment, Yoongi nodded at him encouragingly.

One finger turned to two, the elder tapping Yoongi’s back before entering him, the same slow pace, warily watching his face. Steady movement and a little rhythm, and with a gentle curl, Yoongi’s back arched a little and Jimin smiled at the beautiful sight. He carefully removed them, applied just a tad more lube for safety, and tapped three fingers on Yoongi’s back. He saw the way the boy nodded his head, silver hair shaking with the motion, before slowly entering him. The boy immediately gasped and Jimin’s free hand stroked down his back, massaging a little at the nape of his neck and over his shoulder, the other working the boy until Yoongi finally nodded a little, a sweet whine falling from his lips.

The elder wanted to make doubly sure he was prepped well enough, and it was only when Yoongi’s back was arched and he was practically swotting at Jimin’s hand to remove itself and be replaced with what the male really wanted, did the blonde pull away. His length was straining by the time he rolled the condom down over it, and with the last dashing of cherry lube, Jimin encouraged the boy to roll onto his back. He leaned down so they were face to face, Yoongi immediately peppering sweet little kisses across Jimin’s jaw as the elder aligned himself.

“Are you ready, angel?” Jimin said softly.

Yoongi watched his lips, smiled the prettiest smile before leaning up to kiss Jimin’s own. They stayed like that for a moment, with the younger’s hands clutching at Jimin’s shoulders, his legs splayed and wrapped around Jimin’s hips. The blonde blushed a little as he realised he hadn’t done this in a while but the look on Yoongi’s face was all he needed. He pushed in, his thumb stroking over the apples of the boy’s cheeks. The younger remained silent, his eyes closing temporarily and Jimin was all but ready to carefully pull out and refuse to put the boy through any pain when Yoongi’s lips sloped into the most beautiful noise Jimin had ever heard and he couldn’t help but bury his hips as deep as they could go.

“Fuck, Jimin, yes,” Yoongi drawled out.

Jimin leaned down and kissed him urgently, trying his hardest to keep his hips at a gentle and steady enough rhythm for Yoongi to stay comfortable, but then Yoongi opened his eyes and held Jimin’s cheeks.

“Show me,” he panted, “Show me what it’s supposed to be like.”

They lost track of time, of the world around them, of everything that would ever stop them. Jimin had never felt his body connect with another’s so strongly, so beautifully, it was like everything he did pushed Yoongi into a further bout of pleasure, just as whether the younger pulled on his hair or dragged his teeth along his collar sent him the same way. There was nothing fast, or eager about their sex, it was slow and ever-so-deep. Every rock of Jimin’s hips had a purpose to show Yoongi how he felt, everything he’d bundled up in his conscience, everything he wished and hoped and loved for him.

Yoongi couldn’t hear the way the headboard banged against the wall, or the way the mattress squeaked, and sadly not any of the many compliments that fell endlessly from Jimin’s lips. But he could imagine it, imagine what he was saying, imagine the music teacher describing how tight he was, how incredible this felt, how both of them felt so euphoric that even the stars couldn’t touch them.

Naturally, Yoongi came first. He his back arched, flushing their bare, sweaty chests together and every curse word under the sun fell from his lips as he flourished beneath Jimin’s body. He gripped onto Jimin’s bare skin and his eyes squeezed shut, seeing nothing but tidal waves crashing against each other, coming without need of Jimin’s hand to brush along his length or tip. The waves didn’t give up, they kept coming, splashing inside Yoongi’s being as Jimin thrusted his hips until he could take it no more and followed the same pattern. He dropped onto Yoongi’s bare, sweaty chest and didn’t care for the sticky mess that was trapped in between them. The younger’s hands trailed lazily over Jimin’s back before his eyes finally opened and he let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

Jimin couldn’t get over the image of Yoongi’s perfect face at the peak of his first real orgasm, the way his lips parted and his skin flushed gold and pink, the way Jimin’s name had tumbled over and over from his lips until Jimin had giggled a little. He giggled again, nuzzling his face against Yoongi’s chest, kissing it. His skin was so soft, pale and precious. When Yoongi trailed a hand to cup at Jimin’s cheek the elder turned and peppered kisses onto his palm instead until they were both giggling like schoolchildren. Jimin looked over Yoongi’s face with tired eyes and rather red lips. He reached awkwardly to stroke through the silver hair atop the male’s head.

“How do you feel, Yoongi? Was that alright?”

“It was everything you could have ever given me,” Yoongi whispered back with glassy eyes.

Jimin immediately leaned forward and pressed a long, meaningful kiss onto Yoongi’s lips, his small hand still running through Yoongi’s hair. The younger followed his lead, lazier than before, before breaking away. He swallowed heavily and looked over Jimin’s face as the elder leaned over him. The blonde sensed a question and nudged his nose against Yoongi’s.

“Tell me. What is it? Are you in pain?”

Yoongi couldn’t hear the slight urgency and even panic in Jimin’s voice but he saw it flash through the blonde’s eyes. He kissed him again quickly, holding his face, smiling.

“No, I’m okay, I promise,” Yoongi breathed, “It’s just…did I sound okay?”

A slight puzzlement fell over Jimin like a cloud and he propped himself up on his elbow a little higher, leaning back so that he could look over Yoongi properly. He trailed a hand over his jaw.

“What do you mean, Yoongi?” he asked in confusion.

“I can’t hear myself, Jimin, I,” Yoongi paused and knotted his hands together, “I don’t know _how_ I’m supposed to sound…was it _right_?”

Jimin’s little heart immediately hurt. It dawned on him that from the first moment they met, when he was a breezy, stand-offish student willing to follow his own rules and no one else’s, after meeting Beom, seeing his home and hearing his story, deep down inside Yoongi there was just a tiny, insecure being like everyone else. Lord knows Jimin felt rather chubby in comparison to lying next to a gorgeously lean eighteen-year-old, he just didn’t need reassurance about that, whereas Yoongi did.

No one outside of his selectively tiny circle had ever given him that.

The blonde reached and pulled Yoongi so close so he could squeeze him; hold him flush against his body until the boy could feel the admiration that flowed through Jimin’s veins for him. He pressed soft, eager kisses from his damp forehead to his neck before looking deep into his eyes – again.

“Everything you are, to me, is perfect, Min Yoongi.”

It was all that needed to be said. They held each other for a little while longer in silence until they could no longer ignore the rather sticky mess between them, so Jimin ran them a warm bath with bubbles and they laid in it together, silent still, content in each other’s arms. When the water turned cold they climbed out, dried each other off and retreated back to bed. They clung to each other under the sheets, Yoongi’s body slotting so perfectly against Jimin’s that they both slept in the same position all night with no desire to move away, or separate.

Taehyung returned tiredly around 5am and with no Namjoon to antagonise he went straight to bed, not noticing the tumble dryer full of clothes, a new pair of shoes by the door or a missing bottle of lube in his bedside cupboard. While he slept, Jimin and Yoongi got ready, ate quietly and caught the bus to the school. Yoongi sat in the seat in front of Jimin, both of them aware of the other students on the bus, and they remained silent once more. They reached the school and headed to the music department together. Jimin greeted Eunwoo as usual. Yoongi sat his piano exam and passed with flying colours, and after telling Jimin, rushed to Jinyoung’s apartment to check on Beom.

They couldn’t kiss goodbye because of the cameras that were placed in every school room, including Jimin’s office. All they could do was stand either side of the desk and smile at each other. Yoongi turned on his heel, shared one last look with Jimin and left the school for good. When the office door closed Jimin sunk to his seat and chewed at his bottom lip, willing himself not to cry but he couldn’t help it. He cried like a God damn baby.

Something deep within him had changed and he feared that he’d never be the same person he was the day before.

☁☁☁


End file.
